


Can You Hear My Heartbeat

by GoldCarna



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst because I love emotional pain, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Reaper76, Implied Widowtracer, Implied Zaryamei, M/M, Relatively healthy brotherly relationship, Slow Burn, implied Pharmercy, writing improves Ch.3 onwards
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-08-28 14:37:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8450209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldCarna/pseuds/GoldCarna
Summary: Hanzo Shimada is a new surgeon at Mercy Emergency Clinic, wishing to start anew and escape his ever-looming past and loneliness while trying to get used to the company and emotions of other people.Jesse McCree is a law enforcer at Overwatch Police Department with a consistent track record of getting himself needlessly hurt to complete a mission, whether it be to stop a common robbery or participating in the illegal, alternate persona of Overwatch: Blackwatch.In which Hanzo scolds McCree over his reckless behavior, McCree helps Hanzo feel more at home, and the two develop a bond that perseveres through thick and thin.





	1. Chapter 1

His first day at the new job was on a clear-skied Wednesday, sparse white clouds dotting the dark yet brightening sky as the sun lazily woke up and began to steadily crawl to its perch in the heavens, slowly bathing the city below it in a pleasant warmth. The green, lush trees, each sporting a bountiful head of leaves that rustled pleasantly in the morning breeze, lined the neatly-paved road to the facility, becoming but a emerald blur as the metallic-grey car drove past them. It was almost as if the trees were gently coaxing him to his destination, the wind ushering the vehicle along as it whistled excitedly next to the windows, holding enthusiasm that the driver did not possess.

 

Hanzo Shimada arrived at Mercy Emergency Clinic at 5:00 AM sharp, an hour before his shift officially began, pulling into the slightly-worn parking lot in front the clinic expertly and stepping out, standing still as he took in his environment briefly, his ornate, golden hair tie whipping calmly in the wind. The clinic was bigger than he thought, taking up almost an entire city block and two stories high, looking like, for all intents and purposes, a smaller version of the mother hospital near it rather than an emergency center. It’s exterior was in pristine condition, white, concrete walls neatly smoothed and the numerous individual windows and panes of glass washed and clean, with ramps and railings placed strategically around the facility. Large designated rectangles of soil housed various flower bushes, shrubs, and squat trees, hugging the sides of the large building and providing a some color to the otherwise rather monochrome exterior.

 

Readjusting his grip on his black business bag, he marched through the double doors and into the facility, which looked as if it was obsessively polished, grey and white tiles sparkling under the florescent lights on the ceiling. Someone seemed to have an affinity for transforming wherever they went into a sudo-greenhouse, as even the waiting room had pots of plants in the corners, near the windows, next to the long, cloudy-blue couches-- 

 

“A’ight, how can I help ye, ‘r are you going to just stand there?”

 

Shifting his gaze, Hanzo beheld the owner of the heavily-accented voice, a stout, middle-aged man sitting at the receptionist's booth who owned absurdly bushy, blonde eyebrows, mustache, and beard. The man stared at him impatiently out of his uncovered eye while twirling a metal configuration in his gloved hand, a wrench close to his other one. 

 

Drawing himself up, Hanzo replied steadily, “I applied for a position here a few weeks ago, I am scheduled to be a surgeon here in the morning and afternoon shifts on weekdays and Sunday.”

 

“Ah, right, Angie was saying something about a new recruit. Just wasn’t sure if you were coming in ‘cause you were busy reverse engineerin’ the building with your eyes,” The man’s gaze swept him from head to toe, taking in his crisp collared shirt and tie, dress pants, and polished black shoes, as orderly and composed as their owner. “Though you’d be one odd patient if you came in lookin’ like that, and without the gore.” The man finally stopped twirling the mess of metal and wires in his hand and set it down, reclining in his chair as he took on a more welcoming exterior and gave him a shark-toothed smile. “My name is Torbjörn Lindholm. Välkommen.” Torbjörn gestured to another set of double doors next to the receptionist's booth with his thumb, a blaring red sign above it reading, “MEDICAL”. “You’ll find Angie in the back. Hope you’ll enjoy your stay ‘ere…”

 

“Hanzo Shimada.”

 

“A’ight, Hanzo, take care.” Hanzo nodded in thanks, and as he slipped inside further into the facility, he heard a loud clang of metal hitting something and Torbjörn swearing colorfully in another language.

 

The inside of the facility somehow looked even more spacey than from the outside, with elevators installed sparingly, numerous windows letting in natural light. Branch offs into other factions of the building were identified by signs on the walls, pointing to the wards, intensive care unit, operating room, et cetera. 

 

Within seconds, the sound of rapid footsteps began to echo from a nearby hallway, a slim, blonde woman emerging from the corner, her white lab coat flying behind her like a pair of wings as she ran, head whipping from side to side. When her sharp gaze focused on Hanzo, she smiled warmly and briskly walked to him, breathlessly greeting him as she caught her breath from her run. 

 

“Sorry, I lost track of time. Hanzo Shimada, correct? You applied for a position here?” Hanzo nodded, hesitating as Angela extended a gloved hand. “My name is Angela Ziegler, the founder and head surgeon and doctor at this clinic. I hope that we can make your stay enjoyable.”

 

Hanzo resolutely ignoring her extended hand, keeping his own at his sides as he politely muttered, “A pleasure.” 

 

Angela seemed to not take his refusal of her hand personally, drawing it back as she referred to her clipboard, flipping through various papers in her files with incredible speed, eyes flitting from line to line. “So you are to be a surgeon here in the morning and afternoon shifts from Monday to Friday and Sunday, correct?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“So this will be the first time you apply your medical knowledge in a hospital or a similar facility?”

 

“...Yes.”

 

“If so, I want you to get acquainted as quickly and smoothly as possible, since many people have come by that were in the same position as you and were shocked when they had to actually attend to patients. You’ll be tagging along with me for a week or two, so you’ll be tending to non-critical patients as well. I’ll give you some debriefs starting today. Any questions?”

 

“No.”

 

Angela smiled once more as she closed the files with a snap, blue eyes twinkling in the morning light that shone through the large windows in the hallway, casting warm shadows in the halls as the sun rose to signify the new day. “Well then. Welcome to Mercy Emergency Clinic, Hanzo.”

 

\-------

 

By the time the clock hit 5:30, he had withstood a flurry of debriefs from Angela and began to engage in introductions with the staff that trickled in as the clock arms ticked by and the day grew brighter. The next one who came in was a slightly chubby, short woman named Mei, a shy but bubbly lady who greeted him with a small bow and a quiet exchanging of names. She was the most endurable one out of the staff that arrived after him; Lucio, a college intern at the clinic, virtually leaped through the door with a hoot and insisted on fist-bumping him, and the other man, Reinhardt, who towered over Hanzo by a few feet, nearly pushed him off his feet with a heavy, well-placed pat on the back, his boisterous laughing echoing through the halls and Hanzo’s skull. As loud voices and greetings filled the waiting room, Hanzo discreetly retreated, seeking out Angela in a quiet area of the facility as the first patients began to pull into the parking lot outside.

 

As the day crept on and people seeked assistance at the clinic, Hanzo found himself questioning why he agreed to handle regular patients in the first place. Some of the people who came in had valid, potentially life-threatening issues, but most were plain idiotic, like the teenager who came in with a toothpick stuck between his toenail and toe because of a dare. On the flip side, they were close to hysterical, such as the husband that was screeching and throwing a fit in the waiting room because his wife in the back was having complications with childbirth. Hanzo found himself emotionally drawing back, trying to drown out the heightened emotions around him by dimming his own emotional response to them, a cold, neutral presence as the patients complained and cried.

 

If Hanzo were to be completely honest (which he rarely was, even to himself), he wasn’t fond of people. He found them much too unpredictable, impulsive, and if anything, too emotional. Emotions were like a dark ocean to him: volatile, eerie, threatening to pull him under and drown him if he dared to venture into them and indulge himself. And so he simply stood at the shore, carefully keeping his feet away from the lapping water, listening to the wailing wind while scrutinizing the waves, watching for a swell that he must be prepared for.

 

Thankfully, he was able to resolve the problems that came in with ease, sending them away in under an hour, an efficient, quick pace that Angela commended with surprise. Hanzo gladly accepted the silence that spanned between them as they worked, flitting from one patient to another, allowing himself to become absorbed into his work. It was only until they were tending to an unconscious patient with a head injury a good few hours into the morning shift that Angela spoke to him, sighing loudly after a warbling radio call demanded her attention. Facing him with an apologetic yet slightly amused look on her face, she asked, “Mr. Shimada, could I request something of you for a moment? I realize that it’s almost noon break, but something came up.” 

 

Suspicious of the latter emotion, Hanzo flit his eyes to the side to survey her, his own hands frozen on the IV drip controller. “Yes, what is the matter?” His guarded undertone was almost tangible.

 

“It seems that we have a patient in need of immediate care that is waiting in the front. You have been exceptional so far today, so could you perhaps take care of him by yourself?”

 

“Of course, I do not need to be coddled.”

 

Huffing as her poorly concealed smile grew slightly, she waved a hand at him. “Of course. I wish you luck.” The sentence seemed loaded with a deeper meaning, but pushing that to the back of his mind to focus on his task, Hanzo departed quickly from the room, the golden hair tie and white lab coat fluttering behind him.

 

When she couldn’t hear Hanzo’s brisk footsteps echo down the hall anymore, Angela leaned back slightly and allowed herself to chuckle, glancing at the traditional clock on the wall, its arms nearly touching the number 12. 

 

“I really hope he won’t give Hanzo a hard time, but...perhaps that’s too much to ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins! I hope y'all will enjoy the ride-- I plan for chapters to get longer (and more dynamic) as the story progresses. Feedback is much appreciated, since I want to improve future chapters and hear your thoughts! :>  
> Shoutout to Yun Pei for dragging me into this lovely hell.
> 
> You can find me on Twitter as @goldcarna!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note before I begin, sorry for the delay! Real life decided to dump a flu and a bunch of other stuff on me in the week, but I'm back in action!

There are only a few people in the world who could act so naturally and casually while bleeding all over the ground from a wound; Jesse McCree happened to be one of those people.

 

To his credit, his chestplate, which many of his co-workers scoffed as flashy and unnecessary, had blocked most of the bullets that hit him when the one of the trio of lawbreakers he had cornered unloaded their pistol on him, leaving McCree simply groaning internally at the thought of yet another few batches of bruises on his torso. At that moment, however, he had grinned darkly at the shocked expressions on the black-clad men and pounced on them, slamming their heads into the walls, dealing out solid uppercut jabs in the jaw, and rolling on the ground with the final one standing while the burglar cursed loudly and thrashed his arms about, one holding a gun and another a knife.

 

Of course, when it came to physical strength, McCree was far in the lead. Though he was in his late thirties with a tendency to rather lay around and relax than go fitness training like his other teammates, he was still in impressive condition (perhaps that’s why he was so willing to treat himself with breaks), easily subduing the flailing criminal with a tight headlock. Listening to the wheezing of the man under his arms and the groans of those lying on the ground, McCree winked and tipped his cowboy hat slightly awkwardly, drawling, “And that’s how the West was won.”

 

It was only after the criminals were hauled into a police cab and driven away that he realized that a few spectators were shrilly pointing out the knife that was deeply lodged in his right forearm.

 

And that’s how he found himself at the Mercy Emergency Clinic, twiddling his thumbs while steadfastly ignoring the growing puddle of blood forming at his feet and how his work pants got bloodied up, again. Despite the worried, hushed murmurs of other patients around him, he didn’t feel much pain, just an odd, tingling numbness as adrenaline still pumped through his body, feeling disembodied amusement at his predicament. As he pushed up the sleeve of his brown shirt once more to avoid it from becoming stained, he glanced at the clock, tapping his foot as he watched the long hand tick by. Angela was usually quick to reprimand his impulsive habits, so where was she?

 

However, instead of the hearing the sound of her atrociously sharp high heels clipping from beyond the “MEDICAL” double doors (an observation that he could affirm with an anecdote), he heard a heavier, more solid set of footsteps approach, and the doors opened to reveal a man that McCree had never seen before.

 

The man, who was most likely the new recruit that Angela had offhandedly referenced two weeks ago while he was being stitched up for another injury, was a distinctly different character compared to the lolling, my-pace mood of the town they lived in. Instead, he was orderly, put together with a keen eye and not a spot on his attire, radiating professionalism and formality as he stood with his back straight and head level. Black hair tied back, only a long strip of bangs and shards of graying hair on the side of his temples escaping. A critical scowl framed by a sharp, angular face, similar to his neatly trimmed beard.

 

When they made eye contact, McCree was stricken by the severity and starkness of his gaze, as piercing as an arrow and as dark as the night. His furrowed brow cast shadows over his eyes-- a thunderstorm shrouding the lightning. Dangerous. Calculative. A thought dashes across his mind: he’s seen that look before, and not in favorable contexts.

 

“Are you going to stand there and bleed out like a fool, or come with me to the back?” The slightly comical nature of the situation -- the man’s cool, neutral attitude in the face of a bleeding, jittery patient that was currently freaking other people out -- snapped him out of his daze as he averted his stare, slightly embarrassed.

 

“Oh, uh, yeah.” McCree had some difficulty making his legs move as he left his small puddle of blood, but eventually managed to make his way over to the man, the jangling and clinking of his spurs creating an odd melody on the tiled floor as periodic smears of blood dirtied its previously pristine appearance. He carefully kept the knife steady and level, the hand holding it in dripping red, but he had half the mind to let it go; the sharp gaze that he was currently pinned under was probably enough to keep the damned thing in.

 

The new doctor turned and pushed one of the doors open for him as McCree neared him, leading him through the facility as McCree whistled an obscure tune behind him, resolutely ignoring how each footstep sent increasingly intense prickles of pain up his arm. McCree found himself glancing at the doctor often as he struggled slightly to keep up with the brisk pace, noticing among other things the silky, golden scarf that hung from the man’s ponytail, which billowed behind him like a sail, catching the natural light filtering through the windows they passed.

 

Once McCree arrived to what seemed like his second home -- a patient bed with a small window near it, letting the high noon light in-- he flopped on it gracelessly, kicking his boots up on the edge of the bed and grinning at the doctor, who wore an expression somewhere in the middle of exasperation and disgust. “So, doc, about this knife…”

 

The man sighed heavily through his nose and seated himself on a nearby stool, pulling close to him a small operation tray with numerous scalpels, bandages, and other medical jumbo that McCree could honestly care less about, despite Angela’s half-serious jokes of “Better learn all this because of how often you get hurt.” Half-closing the curtains around them, the man shot him a scowl, taking in his red serape, cowboy hat, and spurred boots with an incredulous look that McCree got quite a lot. “Take the accessories off.”

 

McCree placed a hand over his heart and drew a gasp, feigning severe offense. Give him soap opera music in the background, and he’d be golden. “Huh ho, excuse you, partner, but these ain’t--”

 

“I said, take them off. Now.” In a different context, he might have poked more fun at that statement, but given the intense glare he was receiving right now along with the abnormally frightening aura the doctor was emitting, he begrudgingly obeyed, pulling off his serape and his boots, but keeping the hat resolutely on his head. And since the doctor looked away and instead focused on the knife, he determined that he was in the clear.

 

“How did you acquire this wound?”

 

“Couple o’ hooligans decided to not play nice and attacked me; guess that was all that they could’ve done since they were cornered with all the stuff they stole.” He watched as the man leaned over his arm, extracting the knife carefully and sanitizing the angrily red skin around his wound, humming stalely to affirm his attention. Admittedly, McCree was surprised by the gentleness in which the doctor went about cleaning the wound, quickly attending to torn flesh and muscle and sewing the opening with a deftness that spoke of experience and self-control, a far cry from the cold bite of his tone and words. “No need to worry, they were properly taken care of. They’ll be fine at the sheriff department.”

“I see.” The cool sting of a wet towel rushed up McCree’s injured limb as the doctor wiped off the excess blood, putting the dirty cloth and other bloodied instruments in a red container next to him. “Not wise of them to attempt armed robbery with simply a blade. Disarming them would be quite easy.”

 

McCree smirked, enjoying the moment before he broke the news of, what others would say, how stupid he was at his job. “Naw, they didn’t just carry knives. Guns, too. Pistols, each of em. Shot me a few times.”

 

“Excuse me?” McCree barely was able to stifle his laughter at the look he received, instead halting the sniggering in his throat. “They shot you, and a knife wound is what you are worried about?”

 

“Yeah they did, two or three times? The chestplate blocked the bullets, though,” McCree emphasized the statement with a few solid pats on his advanced bulletproof vest, a wide smile on his face. “Couple o’ bruises tomorrow morning, but I’ll be fine. Comes with the job.” He glanced at the man’s chest, attempting to read his name on the plastic rectangle hanging from the lanyard around his neck discreetly. Before he could, however, the doctor moved, standing up and discarding his surgical gloves. He was seized by the man’s eyes again, now gazing with a patronizing intensity that was like Angela’s, but less… warm.

 

“Making such careless mistakes will result in your demise. I expect that you won’t come here again because your vest did not block a bullet.”

 

McCree nodded, mysteriously breathless. “I’ll keep that in mind, partner.” A slight frown and a raised eyebrow answered his word choice, but no biting response came. McCree smiled and tipped his hat at him, once again confident. “Name is Jesse McCree. Thanks for taking care of me, doc.”

 

The critical look at him softened slightly, brows and shoulders relaxing as the doctor nodded. “Do not pick or aggravate the wound, change the bandages whenever they get soiled, and try not to move or flex that arm. It would guarantee a faster recovery.” A glance at the clock. “If you feel well, I would like to move onto the next client.”

 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks again.” As McCree swung his feet off the edge of the bed with his back to the doctor and started to don his boots and serape again, albeit slightly awkwardly to ensure that he didn’t mess up his new instructions right on the go. “What’s your name, partner?”

 

A long pause followed, making McCree wonder if the doctor had already left. “Partner?” He turned around and opened the curtain, catching a glimpse of a golden scarf whipping around the corner of the door. He sat silently, staring at the door, serape haphazardly balanced on his shoulders and a boot on the wrong foot.

 

\-------

 

“Jesse McCree, you absolute--!”

 

“Alright alright, I know, Reyes-- ow ow, watch the ear, watch it!”

 

Part of McCree wondered if he was about to be sent back to the ER again by Reyes, who was currently angrily pulling him to his office by the ear as the injured cowboy squawked and flailed in his grip, an ironic twist of fate compared to earlier that day. He sent a beseeching look at Zarya, who was walking by with a towel around her neck and a protein shake in hand, finished with her daily workout. The pink-haired bodybuilder met his eye and chuckled as she watched him being dragged through the police department, green eyes on fire with unsuppressed amusement. “Sorry, друг, but you’re on your own.”

 

“Wow Zarya, really?”

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll attend your funeral.”

 

“Zarya!” A booming laugh answered his cry, its volume only diminishing slightly he was dragged into Reyes’ office and the door shut with a slam. McCree gulped with his back to the door, eyes darting around the fortified, cold room, noting for the hundredth time the sparse furniture covered in files and papers on the past and present crime cases and organizations, as well as the few nooks and crannies where he knew that Reyes was storing weapons for an emergency-- or, in other words, scaring new recruits and problematic veteran staff. He was, unsurprisingly, the latter, and had been at the end of enough blades and explosive firearms seemingly pulled out of thin air by Reyes to know. But despite the threats and rare pleads to fix his habits, he never did; he was stubborn to the point of making other people go mad, or so Reyes has told him.

 

Reyes let go of his ear and strode to his desk, boots heavily clomping on the ground as he dropped into his office chair, pinching the bridge of his nose with a familiar grimace. McCree wisely stayed silent by the door, waiting for the sparks to subside from his employer’s dark brown eyes as he switched his weight to another leg, weighing in the tension in the atmosphere to see if he should expect a knife next to his ear in the next three seconds.

 

After a long pause, Reyes dropped his hand from his face, glaring at him exasperatedly. “Again, kid?”

 

McCree cheered internally, letting himself relax a smidgen. “Reyes, I’m 37.”

 

“And yet you seem to not grasp something that even brats get, which is that you should aspire to not be in the emergency room or hospital nearly every week.”

 

“C’mon Reyes,” McCree shrugged, hoping to alleviate some of the tension with a light tone. “We both know by now that it comes with the job. Besides, the bill doesn’t get placed on the station, and I always get the job done. I don’t get why you keep on worrying about this.”

 

“I don’t ‘get’ why you aren’t willing to think about what I’ve been saying for the last twenty years. You put yourself and others in needless danger by insisting on being the loudest and flashiest cop we have hired in the few decades that we’ve existed, not to mention that Angela is giving herself gray hairs over you.” Reyes kicked his feet onto the desk edge, listing slightly to the side as he rested his head on his propped up hand. The look he was giving McCree was akin to a disappointed teacher that was teaching a young child addition for the millionth time, to no avail.

 

Pushing back the tendril of guilt that was worming into his ribcage with a confident smirk, McCree laughed, albeit it being slightly apprehensive. “I have confidence in my skills, Reyes, and the record to support it. Don’t worry. Nobody will get hurt.”

 

“That is a utopian ideal, but do your best to hold it up. It’s what we do.” Despite McCree’s attempted reassurance, Reyes’ brow was still furrowed; something was troubling him.

 

McCree’s smile fell slightly as an awkward silence spanned between them. “...Uh, am I free to go, or...?”  
“...Yeah, get out. I have things to do.” Without being told a second time, McCree quickly departed from the room, walking down the hallway to the staff room as if the floor was disappearing behind his heels. When he arrived at his destination, he flopped down on one of the small couches and lied down, sighed deeply as he lowered his hat to cover his eyes from the blinding ceiling lights, grimacing. He was used to being scolded by Reyes for his habits and actions, but it never put him in a good mood. It was easier to focus on his job and helping others than introspecting; he did that enough when he was a fresh face at Overwatch Police Department, and from experience, he didn’t want to stray near that state of mind again, where one could run in circles in the darkness without seeing the end, falling deeper into a pit of doubt and second-guessing. And yet when he wanted to keep on moving forward, it seemed that everyone was caught up with past events that have already been resolved.

 

He was pulled out of his thoughts when he suddenly felt a breath exhale hotly behind his ear, humid and wet as it coiled near his neck. He jolted-- hat almost flying off in haste to distance himself from the assaulter-- and immediately relaxed once he saw who it was, instead propping himself farther up onto his elbows and chuckling. “Genji, you little shit.”

 

“Says the one that was dragged across the department again.” A snarky, well-natured retort answered him, the source of the voice swinging himself onto the edge of the back of the couch, looking down at him with a playful look. Genji Shimada snickered, an almost devilish smile on his lips as he raked back his green-dyed hair, adjusting his metal hairband to catch some stray strands that were attempting to escape. “I think we should invest in a separate route that is specifically for you and your sorry ass.”

 

“Shut yer trap.” McCree sat up and lightly shoved Genji off of his perch, snickering as the latter squawked and waved his arms comically before falling off and landing on the floor with a thud. The two laughed loudly in the comfortable peace that spanned between them, with McCree leaning over the couch and rustling the younger man’s hair as the latter batted the hands away lightly.

 

“So,” Genji chirped, standing back up and seating himself beside McCree, a small, teasing smirk still on his lips as he raised his eyebrow. “What was it this time?”

 

“Knife in my right forearm, nothing big.” McCree raised his arm, displaying the wide expanse of white cotton that was bandaged around his wound. Genji gasped dramatically, daintily placing a hand over his chest as he fanned himself his other.

 

“Oh you poor soul, it must be so painful, don’t walk towards the light yet, buddy chum pal, we need to get you a doctor.”

 

Rolling his eyes at the heavy sarcasm and snorting, McCree reclined further into the cushions, his injured arm dangling over the back of the couch. “Nah, not this time, I think I’ll get royally dealt with.”

 

“True, Angela can demolish anyone with those high heels of hers. As a general rule, I hightail away from anyone that can run in heels.”

 

“Amen to that, but Angela didn’t patch me up this time. It was someone new.” Genji’s eyebrows seemed to disappear into his hairline as he leaned closer, intrigued.

 

“Really? That’s rare, Angela rarely hires anyone. Who are they?”

 

“Thing is, I don’t know his name. He left before answering.” McCree diverted his gaze from his friend, instead staring at the ceiling panels thoughtfully. An image of the new doctor flashed in his mind’s eye-- an imperial, authoritative figure, eyes blazing at McCree even from inside of his head, golden scarf draped over his shoulder. “Black hair and eyes, ponytail held up with a scarf, Asian accent. Stern, but definitely knows what he’s doing. No-bullshit kind of person, as far as I can tell.”

 

“Huh, well, you’ll probably see him again, considering you. Try not to give him gray hairs, though I have a feeling you two will get along great,” Genji joked, standing up and stretching with a groan. “I’m going to the arcade, you wanna play?”

 

“You mean ‘Want your ass to get royally wrecked?’”

 

“Haha, you betcha. Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you since your arm is compromised. The loser is on janitorial duty for a week, how about that?”

 

“I don’t need no accommodations, I ain’t dead yet.” McCree stood up as well, cocking his hip to the side as he clicked his tongue, signature grin on his face. “Either way, challenge accepted, partner.”

 

He ended up regretting that statement when got his ass handed to in some futuristic fighting game for the fifth time a few hours later, a crowd around the two as Genji cheered triumphantly, mocking McCree from behind the machine as he sulked in his seat, injured forearm sore and tingling from his logicless key-smashing at the end of the game. Grumbling, he saw himself out of the crowd, maneuvering around civilians of varying ages as he glanced back, expecting to hear Genji’s baiting jeers of, “C’mon, another, Eastwood!”, but instead seeing him concentrated on another game, a young gal with short brunette hair and pink-highlighted headphones in the seat that McCree previously occupied. Glad to escape, he quietly blended into the crowd and exited the building, seeking out a quiet corner on a nearby city block as he watched the sun set in the crimson, violet-streaked sky. At the mercy of impulse, he extracted a cigar out of his shirt pocket and lighted it, breathing in the earthy, bitter fumes before exhaling, watching the smoke swirl up into the sky and slowly dissipate as he ignored the internalized voice of Angela scolding him. “You know you’re killing yourself slowly, don’t you?”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered aloud, mentally batting away the voice as it faded away from his mind, emptiness taking its place and leaving McCree to himself, once again.  
He stayed on the city block for another hour before deciding that it was going to be another one of Genji’s game-spree nights, turning on his heel and heading back to the station as the first stars started to shine through the darkening sky, the moon slowly rising to replace the tired sun. As per usual, he milled about the department until 11:00 PM, murmuring a goodnight from the other side of Reyes’ office door before he walked home, following the moon as another day came to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this chapter, I hope y'all enjoyed it! Big thanks to those who have kudo'd, bookmarked, and especially commented on the first chapter; it makes my day, truly! ^^
> 
> Some tidbits:  
> -Currently, McCree still has both of his arms.  
> -The characters are all canon age but Reyes is still here with us.
> 
> Feedback is much appreciated, since I want to improve future chapters and hear your thoughts! :>
> 
> You can find me on Twitter as @goldcarna! If you happen to have any questions about this AU or anything feel free to comment or DM me! ^^


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was having some trouble with this chapter, then something clicked and I dumped 5k words in a two-hour sitting. Miscommunication and reunions ahoy, and more interactions!

“Thanks for taking care of McCree for me, I know that he can be slightly… overbearing.”

 

Hanzo scoffed at Angela’s words as he redistributed the cleaned operation tools back into their designated containers in the supply room, shaking his head at the memory of the man. Brown hair and caramel eyes, sun-kissed skin, beard as wild as his appearance, broad shoulders that were covered by a red, patterned serape. Bleeding out onto the floor while staring stupidly at him with his equally idiotic getup-- who in the world dressed like a cowboy in this age? “He is the oddest thing I’ve seen since coming to this town. I truly underestimated people’s tastes.” Closing a container with a snap and placing it in a cabinet, he added, “I take that if you know his name as well, he has been here very often.”

 

“Oh, definitely.” Angela chuckled half-heartedly, fond tone underlying her words. “He’s been here more times than I can count, he’s virtually a regular customer here. A handful for sure, but he’s a good-hearted man.”

 

Hanzo hummed in response, fidgeting slightly with the glass jar he held in his gloved hands before finally succumbing to curiosity. “... Is there a culture festival or some sort in this town today?”

 

Angela tilted her head slightly, raising an eyebrow as she stood silent for a moment; Hanzo could almost see the imaginary calendar that she was consulting in her mind. “No, it is not. Why do you ask?”

 

“Mr. McCree’s outfit seemed rather… outdated and extreme. I would think that it wouldn’t even pass as a fashion statement in this current age. The only context that it would fit in would be for a historical reenactment.” Silence permeated through the room, then loud, cackling laughter filled the space, shocking Hanzo as he stood frozen, watching as Angela bent over and hurriedly put some materials to the side to avoid dropping them in her mirthful state. Feeling slightly irked and embarrassed, he turned his focus back on his work, closing drawers with more force than necessary as the tip of the ears grew slightly hot, resolutely blocking out her snickers.

 

“I’m sorry Hanzo, I wasn’t laughing at you.” The amused quiver in the doctor’s voice didn’t convince him, but he turned his head slightly to glance at her, lips taut over his teeth as he scowled. “That was just the funniest description of his appearance that I’ve ever heard. For your information, he chooses to dress that way, and believe me, when I first met him, I questioned his fashion choice too.”

 

“And you do not any longer?” This town was growing stranger by the minute. Was America just like this in general? How disastrous.

 

“I’ve grown used to it. Besides, I have to deal with his madness all the time when he winds up getting injured in the most absurd ways. You’d be surprised.” Hanzo hesitated before relaxing, finally nodding once more and turning his back to her, standing back after he stowed away the last container. Surveying the large room to ensure that everything was in an organized state, he took in every cabinet and corner of the space and committed it to memory, sketching it into the mental map he was constructing of the facility. An old habit from his past, but a stubborn one nonetheless.

 

“And also, Hanzo, thank you for staying and helping me organize all of these. I didn’t intend on keeping you here longer than you need to on the first day.” Directing his attention back to Angela, who was also putting away the last of the equipment while shooting an apologetic smile over her shoulder, Hanzo waved his hand dismissively as he shook his head.

 

“No need to apologize, I will stay as long as I need to.”

 

“Nonsense, I’m sure you have family to meet, it is nearly dinner time.” Hanzo froze minutely but Angela seemed not to notice, occupied with sweeping a final check of the placement of the equipment in the room, finger bobbing in the air as she checked off cabinets in her head. “Nonetheless, you were very impressive today, I must say that you’re one of the most talented staff I have hired in a long time.”

 

“You flatter me,” he replied smoothly, recovering from his lapse as extracted his arms from his lab coat and folded it over an arm, picked up his bag from the floor with the other one. He didn’t want to stay any longer. “Thank you, Dr. Ziegler. I will see you tomorrow.”

 

“Yes, I wish you a good night, Dr. Shimada.” With a last nod, Hanzo exited the room quietly, closing the door behind him with a click.

 

By the time that he had deposited the coat in the laundry basket, murmured a few goodbyes to the staff that he came across, and exited the facility, the sky had turned indigo and lavender purple, streaks of crimson and blood orange cutting through the sky as the sparse clouds in the sky were colored dusty gold, a slight breeze ruffling his clothes as he let it wind around him. He checked his watch -- 7:00 PM, an hour longer than he was required to stay-- and finally departed, driving back to his flat silently, the only sound coming from the howling wind and his thoughts.

 

The commute from and to the clinic was slightly inconvenient, considering that there were many spaces open that he could have lived in that were closer to the clinic, but he deemed it necessary to live farther out from the city centre to avoid the bustle of society and its loud shouting, honking, and general lack of privacy. As he drove under the tall lampposts that flickered on to signify the oncoming night, the differences in the landscape gradually made itself known, the number of apartments and condominiums decreasing and various parks and grassy fields dotted with patches of dandelions taking their place. His residence was near one of those fields, a simple apartment that was thankfully quite vacant and left him with a notable amount of peace and quiet.

 

He heaved a sigh as he entered his apartment,slipping off his shoes and setting his briefcase down on a table. As he loosened his tie with one hand, he opened the case with the other -- the sound of locks being opened ringing in the silent room -- and extracted a cold, glinting gun. In the dim light of the moon shining through the windows, casting dark shadows over him and the furniture, Hanzo flipped the gun over in his hands, stroking it with a thumb thoughtfully before finally taking out the clip and setting both items to the side. He took out a few stacks of papers and a spare collared shirt and began to inspect the state of the other objects hidden under them: a short blade, throwing knives, a spool of piano wire, and a folded, slightly worn photograph. Placing the gun and the other weapons back into the briefcase after briefly checking over them, he picked up the photo and unfolded it, pulling back a chair from the table and seating himself in it as he looked at it. A condescending voice in his head whispered to him how sentimental he was being, but Hanzo shoved it forcefully into the corner, instead looking at the image in the moonlight.

 

It was a photo of him and his little brother Genji during the Tanabata Festival in Japan many years ago, when they were respectively ten and seven years old. The two boys were dressed in greyish-blue yukatas and were hanging up colorful strips of paper onto a bamboo stalk, their eyes bright in the light of the glowing lanterns around them as they beheld the rainbow of colored papers that were already hung on the bamboo. Genji’s youthful face was lit up with a toothy smile, his black hair drawn back with his favorite metal headband as he stood on his tiptoes to reach a branch, his older brother smiling softly at him as he placed his own, his long black hair sweeping around his shoulders in the gentle breeze. Hanzo remembered that day clearly, the memories enveloping him as he reminisced.

 

_ “Anija, look!” _

 

_ Hanzo turned away from the bamboo stalk, beholding his brother who was jumping excitedly, pointing to his strip of paper, which was securely fluttering in the breeze. Hanzo chuckled, fondly stroking Genji’s hair. _

 

_ “Good job Genji, I told you that you were tall enough.” _

 

_ “Well duh, I’m amazing! Guess what I wished for, Hanzo!” _

 

_ “I don’t know, what did you wish for?” Ignoring the fact that he could’ve peeked at the paper, he tilted his head, a smile still on his lips.  _

 

_ Genji grinned widely, proudly declaring “I wrote ‘I hope that brother and I will always be together, no matter what, and that we will be happy in the future!’” _

 

_ Touched, Hanzo laughed, patting Genji on the shoulder softly as he gazed back at the array of papers. “That is lovely, Genji. I wish for the same.” _

 

Hanzo shook himself out of the memory, hastily folding the photo back into a square and casting it aside before he deflated slightly, turning in his seat to stare at the glowing moon. That Tanabata Festival was one of the last times that they were allowed to mingle with the public and act as if they were normal citizens, and the photo reminded him of the life the two lived before they were swept up into the life of family business and other, more unfavorable acts. And before so, so many other tragedies.

 

Hanzo was glad that it has been two years since he eliminated the last assassin who attempted to kill him. Perhaps he had shaken them off enough this time; his skills at disguising and hiding were exceptional, and he hoped that he wouldn’t have to be on the move again for a while. He was simply tired and missed his home and Genji dearly. However, he was adamant on keeping his briefcase with him at all times, both out of habit and distrust of uncontrollable surroundings. Leaning back, he contemplated his first day, which was mostly a blur until, of course, the cowboy came into his mind. He groaned, almost getting secondhand embarrassment from the man’s loud and quite extra attire.  _ Do not _ , he chided himself.  _ You’ll never see him again. Forget. _

 

\---

 

And he did for a few days, which passed quite uneventfully -- or as uneventful as working at an emergency clinic could be -- with no sight of the man, until a shrill scream rang from the waiting room that caught his attention one day. When he opened the “MEDICAL” doors, he was met with shocked and frightened patients, all staring at a familiar man whose face was covered in blood, red liquid splattering on the floor from his unruly beard. McCree grinned when he saw Hanzo by the doorway, pointing at him with a finger gun as he chirped, “Good to see you again, doc.”

 

As Hanzo wiped off the blood from McCree’s face with a damp towel in the same cubicle as the first time they met, McCree hissed from the pressure applied to the large gash on his forehead to stop the bleeding.

 

“Hell, partner, can’t ya ease on the wound? Feels like you’re trying to smash my face in.”

 

“Either you deal with it or bleed out.” Hanzo dropped another red soaked towel on the tray next to him. “And don’t get used to coming here so often. There may be a time when none of the staff are available.”

McCree huffed a laugh then winced, hand straying near his forehead. “Been there, done that, doc. I’ve come here more times than I count.”

 

“Well, invest in being more aware of your surroundings. You are a police officer, are you not? What good are you if you constantly come under fire and have an inability to protect yourself?” The words came out of his mouth without a second thought, analytic and aimed to hurt, far too reminiscent of the words of his family elders; even after so many years of solitude, he seemed to never escape their influence.

 

McCree raised a bloody eyebrow but thankfully seemed to take Hanzo’s criticisms in stride. “Harsh words, doc. There’s a method behind my madness, believe me.”

 

“Explain.”

 

“Well, considering my job, getting hurt is part of the contract. Cops and victims will fall under fire from time to time. Might as well be me than anyone else, if I can prevent them getting hurt. I’d gladly take it.” 

 

Hanzo reached for some gauze and checked the wound once more, glancing at McCree with a furrowed brow. “You willingly put yourself in harm’s way? And your superiors allow that?”

 

A chuckle. “Naw, but I get the job done so they can’t really complain, though they still do. Don’t worry about it, this is what I’ve been doing for the last twenty years, still ain’t dead yet.”

 

Shaking his head, Hanzo pushed McCree’s damp brown hair back and began to wrap gauze around his head firmly -- maintaining pressure on it when he could -- and ignored how close he was to the man now. “Is that why you dress as if you’re planning on performing a historical reenactment?”

 

McCree’s eyes widened before he started to guffaw loudly (how could he almost be louder than Reinhart?), slapping his thigh as he wheezed, small “ow”s sometimes escaping his lips. His convulsions jostled Hanzo, who had to shoot out a hand on the other side of the bed to stabilize himself while keeping a hand on the gauze, an incredulous huff escaping his lips as his personal space shrank dramatically. McCree wiped away imaginary tears from the corners of his eyes as he wound down, lips twitching amusedly when he saw Hanzo bent over his stomach, sending a glare his way as he tried to regain his balance. “Here,” he chuckling slightly, resting a hand on the gauze wrapped around his forehead, mutely offering to keep it secure while Hanzo stood back up. Hanzo inhaled sharply as he felt the heat from McCree’s palm cupping over the back of his hand and quickly withdrew his, finally straightening up with a disgruntled look that was softened by McCree’s contagious smile.

 

“Damn, that was funny, partner. Nice one.” 

 

Still slightly peeved, Hanzo replied, schooling his expression into one of authority, “Do not call me ‘partner,’ I will not accept becoming your personal surgeon for mistakes that you bring upon yourself.”

 

“Aw, I didn’t mean it like that. B’sides, ya left the last time when I was trying to ask your name.” McCree waved a hand, continuing hurriedly, “If you ain’t comfortable with telling me, it’s fine, by the way.”

 

Hanzo stilled for a moment, assessing McCree from the corner of his eye. A swift internal battle raged in his chest as he weighed his options, the lingering fear of still being trailed by assassins fighting against his morals and thoughts of attempting to integrate himself into society properly, instead of being forever held back by his previous occupation. And the man seemed genuine enough… or perhaps simply foolish.

 

“... Hanzo.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“My name is Hanzo.” Despite the anxiety that underlay his choice, he miraculously felt a small weight lift off of his chest.

 

“Han-zo…” The foreign name rolled off of McCree’s tongue oddly, some syllables being stretched into a drawl. After a small span of silence, McCree smiled well-naturedly, extending a slightly bloody hand to him. “Well, nice to meet ya, Hanzo.” Hanzo surprised himself by actually accepting the hand, albeit after hesitation. McCree’s grip was firm and warm, quite unlike the cold fingers of patients that Hanzo was used to. He had a fresh bandage wrapped around the wound on his forearm from the first time they met.

 

\---

 

Hanzo exasperatedly consulted Angela about the McCree’s habits a few days later during the evening, gesturing with his hand towards the waiting room, half expecting him to pop up there and alarm the other patients, again. His frustration built when Angela chuckled and shrugged. “He’s been like that ever since being part of the police department. I’ve tried to change his habits, but to no avail.” Right at that instant, the distant sound of a door slamming and multiple gasps and yelps for a doctor ringing throughout the halls reached them. Hanzo didn’t even question who the patient was as he strode into the waiting room, his intuition deemed correct when his eyes landed on McCree, whose eyes lit up when they fell upon him despite clutching his right upper arm, the shirt around his hand dyed red.

 

“Howdy, Hanzo!” A sigh and a look to the heavens answered him, a foreboding feeling of a routine settling in poking Hanzo’s conscience as he waved McCree to the back, leading him to the same cubicle as before. “What happened this time, McCree,” he exasperatedly asked as he prodded at the wound, spraying disinfectant into it as McCree launched into another story, his other limbs gesturing animatedly as he recounted a story involving a gunwoman holding someone hostage, and his success at freeing the captive at the cost of being grazed by a bullet.

 

“See, in times like that, it’s better me than them. Ya get it, don’t ya?”

 

“Of course, but running headfirst into a situation without considering other options is unwise in itself.”

 

“Sometimes there aren’t other options to consider, Hanzo.” The underlying graveness in McCree’s words surprised him slightly, but Hanzo kept his eyes trained on treating the wound, finishing up with some gauze and cotton squares.

 

“My point is to be careful, McCree. If you are overly rash, you may lose this limb.” He punctuated his words by patting his forearm, not prepared for McCree flinching and moving his arm away from him. Hanzo narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “McCree, what did you do?”

 

McCree’s eyes flickered from place to place, not falling on Hanzo as he reassured him in a dubiously high-pitched voice, smiling uncomfortably as he scratched his scalp with his free hand. “Nothin’, was just surprised, that’s all. No need-- woah, hold up--”

 

Hanzo had swiftly turned his attention to his new target, peeling away the gauze at impossible speed and glaring at McCree as he pointed at the inflamed wound, the stitches frayed and worn. “McCree.” A threatening edge crept into his tone, making McCree cave.

 

“Alright, alright, just don’t touch it.” McCree tugged on the brim of his hat (which had bullet casings on it as decorations, what the heck) and let out a breathy chuckle. “Found me out, huh? Should’ve known.”

 

“Why did you not come back and get it fixed,” Hanzo accused, upset at both McCree and himself. “If my skills were faulty, then I wouldn’t have berated you.”

 

“Naw, it wasn’t your fault, you’re amazing. I just wasn’t careful.”

 

“Really,” Hanzo mumbled sarcastically, quickly snipping the old string and checking the wound for infection. “What did you do, then?”

 

“I… Well… Screwed it up at the arcade.” Hanzo tugged a bit too strongly while sewing up the wound again, staring incredulously at McCree with narrowed eyes, the man looking slightly embarrassed but quick to defend himself. “Hell, Genji doesn’t know when to quit, with him and his stupid Pachimari addiction.” The thread slipped out of the sewing pin.

 

“... Genji?” Hanzo’s tongue seemed heavy in his mouth, disbelief and shock on his features as memories of his younger brother flashed before his eyes, morphing from pleasant memories such as that one Tanabata festival to the final, charged argument they had before Genji’s departure. McCree simply looked on confusedly, obviously caught off-guard by Hanzo’s loss of composure.

 

“Yeah, Genji Shimada. Coworker of mine at the Overwatch Police Department--” McCree’s eyes narrowed as his aura changed dramatically from open to wary, eyes blazing under the brim of his hat. He shot out a hand and grabbed Hanzo’s lanyard to read the information on the plastic rectangle that hung from it, the latter grunting in surprise. “‘Hanzo Shimada.’ So that’s your last name. What are you doing in a place like this?” Hanzo tore himself from McCree’s grasp with a growl, reeling backwards and discreetly nudging his briefcase with his foot as his heart thudded in his chest. The last thing he wanted to do was make a ruckus, but if this was indeed another trap, he would not hesitate. A pang of disappointment rang through him; it seemed that it was time to leave again.

 

McCree stood up and faced him, stance wide and ready but with a pacifying hand extended. “Now don’t get jumpy, partner,” he drawled, tone anything but joking. “We don’t have to do this the hard way. Calm down.”

 

Hanzo instead tensed even more, hand clutching the pin. “You are not the first assassin sent to kill me to say that, and you will not be the last.”

 

“Assassin?” Contrary to expectation, McCree looked truly confused. “I ain’t one. If anything, that’s you.”

 

“If you are a simple law enforcer, how could you know that? Do not jest.”

 

“Genji told me.”

 

Hanzo’s stomach dropped. “How do you know his name? What have you done to him?” His voice rose in volume as he stepped forward threateningly and angled the pin at his side, McCree replying with a hand drifting towards the gun on his belt.

 

“Hold on there--” The sound of the cubicle curtain behind drawn open ripped through the argument, startling both of them.

 

“Enough.” Angela faced the two men, blue eyes blazing as they regarded the situation, her usual smile absent on her lips. “McCree, drop your hand. Hanzo, you are safe. We are not your enemies.” The two hesitantly relaxed, the former more so than the latter. “I could hear you both from the hall, you’re lucky that nobody was in the wing, or else things may have gotten out of control.”

 

“How can I trust you,” Hanzo hissed defensively, though the pin was held looser in his hand. 

 

“Nothing we say will convince you at the moment, and I’m not sure what is happening with all of this,” Angela shrugged, “So I called Genji. He should arrive in a few minutes since he wasn’t at the arcade, for once.” She pulled a stool from another cubicle to herself and sat on it, regarding the two with an aura that was awfully like a mother scolding her children. “I will attempt to answer any questions you have at the moment, Hanzo, if you feel inclined to listen.” Hanzo’s frigid silence answered for her.

 

The next few minutes passed very slowly, a tense atmosphere enveloping the three as McCree shifted his weight from leg to leg, mirroring Hanzo as the latter stood rigidly, eyes flickering between the two as his hand itched to grab the briefcase at his feet. When the sound of a car screeching into the parking lot reached them, Angela swiftly excused herself, running out of the room as her coat billowed behind her, leaving the two men to themselves for a tense moment before an equally rapid but heavier set of footsteps rang from the hall, the owner passing the doorway once then doubling back, panting. Hanzo felt his breath escape him.

 

It seemed as if his brother simply grew in size and not appearance, still having the same orange scarf, metal hairband, and spiky, green hair, his youthful face hardly aged since ten years ago as he gaped at him. He was wearing a skin-tight gray shirt and white pants, a gloved hand resting on the door frame. “Hanzo?” Upon hearing the familiar voice, Hanzo’s breath hitched slightly.

 

“Genji…”

 

“Hanzo!” Genji bounded across the room in a few leaping strides and threw his arms around Hanzo, squeezing tightly as Hanzo stood still, reeling from the realization that his brother was alive and present. After a few moments, Hanzo uncertainty raised his arms and placed them on his brother’s back. “Anija, I can’t believe that you’re here, I’ve missed you… I thought I’d never see you again.”

 

“Are you… really here?” It seemed too good to be true. Hanzo couldn’t help but tighten his grip on the back of Genji’s shirt to try to convince himself that Genji wasn’t going to fade away like in his taunting dreams.

 

Genji laughed shakily and withdrew, standing back as he rubbed one of his eyes with the palm of his hand. “Of course I’m here, brother. Who do you think you are hugging?” 

 

Hanzo was about to initiate another embrace when the faint sound of a spur scratching on the tile floor reached his ears, making him stop and look at McCree, who had been trying to quietly retreat towards the door but failed, an apologetic but still confused and wary expression on his face. In an instant, the magic disappeared, and Hanzo retreated back into his shell. “What are you doing here? Why do they know you?” The question “How do they know what we have done” was implicit.

 

“I work at the Overwatch Police Department, I’ve been there for a while now,” Genji glanced at McCree with a smile and a small wave, and Hanzo noticed McCree relax. “They’ve accepted me despite what I’ve done. They are good people, Hanzo, you don’t have to be wary of them.”

 

Hanzo’s eyes narrowed as he mulled over his words. “‘Despite what you have done?’ How much have you told them? Why does McCree know who I am as a Shimada?” The smile from Genji’s face dropped as he began to fidget slightly.

 

“Well, about the Shimada Clan, the family business, why I left…” An uncomfortable pause. “And about you. Sorry.” Hanzo opened his mouth to speak, but Genji swiftly cut him off. “I trust them, Hanzo. They’re like family.”

 

“We are not one with the law, Genji, to tell them is--”

 

“That was how we were before, not now. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To start anew?” After a moment of silence, Hanzo slowly nodded. 

 

“Uh, I’ll leave you two alone now.” The brothers faced McCree, who had angled his hat to shield his eyes. “Sorry ‘bout the ruckus. Have a good night, folks.” The jangling of spurs grew quieter as McCree left, leaving only two people in the room.

 

“...I thought I told you to not mention me to anyone.” Genji sighed and clasped a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder, staring at him sadly with charcoal-black eyes.

 

“Did you really think I could forget you, Hanzo? That’s a kind of promise that is asking to be broken.”

 

“...I thought it would be for the best. I was prepared to take on father’s role after his death. Any connection with me would be detrimental to your freedom and safety.” The last few words were spoken bitterly as he sat on the bed, the memory of the argument pressing itself upon him.

 

_ It happened ten years ago when the two still lived in Hanamura, Japan, their hometown that became less so for one of the brothers. Genji had been increasingly obvious in rebelling against the elders’ wishes until they had asked Hanzo to ‘straighten him out.’ The meaning behind the words was clear enough. _

 

_ “So they finally sent you to kill me, huh?” Genji bit off another dango ball from its stick, leg dangling from the railing of the second story of the Shimada Castle as he gazed at the setting sun on the horizon. Hanzo remained silent, head bowed as he approached Genji with a sheathed katana on his hip. “I’m not surprised,” Genji continued, turning his head to gaze at his brother with a smile on his face, accepting the situation with ease. “I was asking for it, in their eyes. But I’d rather die than waste my life away here, trapped and unable to live.” _

 

_ “I know.” Hanzo’s voice was subdued and emotionless, stopping a few paces away from him. “I know I can’t change your mind.” _

 

_ “I don’t blame you, anija. You’re doing what is best for the family. Father would--” _

 

_ “He wouldn’t do such a thing to you. And neither will I.” _

 

_ “What?” _

 

_ Hanzo raised his head, bags under his eyes and lips taught over his teeth. “I refuse to kill you. You must leave, today.” Genji’s eyes widened as his jaw dropped, dango hanging loosely from his fingers. _

 

_ “You’re actually disobeying the elders? Hanzo, they’ll kill you if you don’t get rid of me! Besides, security is too tight for me to leave tonight, it’s the Tanabata Festival, it will be enhanced further. There is no way out.” _

 

_ “There wouldn’t under regular circumstances. However, I arranged for some… distractions.” _

 

_ “Distractions?” _

 

_ “I dropped a few leads of our criminal dealings in the lap of the police department. To my knowledge, they are preparing for a strike on one of our key drug holdings tonight. The attention of the elders should be shifted long enough for there to be a heightened chance of successful escape.” _

 

_ “Holy shit, Hanzo…” A laugh bubbled from Genji’s lips as he regarded Hanzo, eyes bright with hope. “I knew you’d come around. Come on, you have your katana, we should leave together, I have enough money on me to get us to--” _

 

_ “I will not be going with you.” The shocked silence was almost palatable, the rustling of leaves almost deafening. _

 

_ “... You’re joking, right?” The hope in Genji’s eyes had faded, now replaced with horrified disbelief.  _

 

_ “Father entrusted me to continue the business, and I will.” Hanzo looked away with arms crossed, fingers white as they dug into his upper arms, unable to meet his little brother’s eyes. “I cannot abandon them. Duty is the only destiny I know.” _

 

_ Genji stood up abruptly and strode over to him, his expression morphed into one of stubborn rage. “That’s bullshit, brother, you don’t owe them anything!” _

 

_ “I don’t owe them anything? Are you daft, Genji?!”  _

 

_ “I’m damn right, and you know it!” Genji was now in front of him, shaking his shoulders forcefully. “All the times they verbally abused us, injured us, brainwashed us into thinking that we belonged to them, that isn’t family! We can take back our lives now, don’t you see?! We can finally be free!” _

 

_ “Cease!” Hanzo flung Genji’s hands off of him, finally meeting his eyes. “I must continue Father’s legacy. I cannot turn my back on what we have worked so hard to build.” Genji scoffed, but Hanzo pressed on. “I’m doing this all so you can have your freedom, Genji! As the heir of the clan, my presence would endanger you. I cannot allow that. I must stay here.” _

 

_ Genji rubbed a hand down his face, growling frustratedly. “Have you ever thought about /your/ freedom, anija?” _

 

_ “... I get no such luxury. There is no other choice.” Hanzo swallowed, throat tight as he prepared to say what he had been fitfully mulling over since concocting Genji’s escape plan. “I have a favor to ask you, about after you leave.” _

 

_ “After /we/--” _

 

_ “Do not interrupt. I want you to forget about me.” Hanzo raised his voice when Genji let out a shocked exclamation. “Do not attempt to contact me. Do not mention me to anyone. According to you, I never existed. You were an only child. You never had a brother. Do you understand?” _

 

_ “Are you hearing yourself right now?! What the fuck, Hanzo, why would you ever say that?!” Genji closed in on Hanzo once again, reaching out but being denied with a slap on the wrist. _

 

_ “It is for the best! Any connection to me would endanger you, wherever you go. I want you to have a clean slate when you are out there, not tied down to this all.” Hanzo emphasized his words with a sweeping of his hand, gesturing at the central part of the castle and even himself. _

 

_ “I refuse, this is absurd!” _

 

_ “I am supporting your wishes and freedom, what is there not to understand?!” _

 

_ “I didn’t want this! I never wanted this!” Genji’s voice cracked, and Hanzo’s heart clenched painfully. “This is completely extra, we are brothers! We’ve had each other’s backs when nobody else would, I can’t possibly agree to this--” _

_ The ringing of metal sang through the air as Hanzo drew his katana and pointed it at Genji, the tip of the blade pressing against his brother’s chest. Genji backed away hastily, a trace of betrayal in his eyes. Hanzo had fallen into his role once more: an authoritative, cold leader of a criminal business. “Either you leave without me and heed my request, or you die.” The blade shone forebodingly in the fading sunlight. _

 

_ Ultimately, Genji left alone, sealing the deal. Hanzo was able to fool the elders into thinking that Genji left without internal help and even gave them false leads on where he was to buy him time, but he still couldn’t help but feel an inconsolable heaviness weigh down in his chest. The fact that that night was the Tanabata Festival made things even more ironic, in the worst of ways. _

 

“--ja… Anija... Hanzo!” Hanzo snapped out of his brooding and whipped his head toward Genji’s voice, clenching the white bedsheet in his hands as he anchored himself to the present. Genji was looming over him with a concerned expression on his face. “There you are, you dazed off for a while there. Are you alright?”

 

Shaking off the tendrils of the memory, Hanzo pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “Yes, I will be fine. I was simply recalling the day you left.”

 

“It wasn’t a joyful departure, that’s for sure.” Genji sat next to him and placed a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder. “But I’m glad you followed suit. Why did you decide to leave?”

 

Hanzo tensed, brows furrowed and glaring at the ground like it personally insulted him. “Even after you left, the elders were intent on killing you. They still deemed you a threat, since you had all of the classified information, as a Shimada… So they turned to your friends. Previous flings. Anyone who they thought had a connection to you. They killed them.” He heard Genji inhale sharply beside him, the hand on his shoulder tightening unpleasantly. “I did not give them permission to do so. I confronted the elders who acted out, and I realized that a few of them had gathered leads on where you have gone. I assumed that you contacted some of your friends after you left. I eliminated them on the charge of disobedience and erased the information.

 

“While business stayed the same, times were changing. Their old methods were not working as effectively as they wanted, and they started to push and use more violent and risky maneuvers. I vehemently refused, but it seemed that the threat of death meant little to them at that point, and my involvement with your case eroded their trust in my thinking. If they were to die, they wanted to die while doing things their way. The clan was slowly spiraling out of control as different elders wanted to do different things, and while I tried to keep it all together, I realized that the clan was lost to me; I wasn’t continuing Father’s legacy, or maintaining our family’s honor. The clan was killing itself and was fitfully trying to revive its former glory, but I knew it never would; it was not the Shimada Clan anymore, and instead a shadow of itself. So I left. Their last unified act was sending assassins after me, but I am still here. I do not know what happened to the remnants of the clan, but from what I have gathered, their area of influence has dropped dramatically.”

 

Genji let out a breath and slumped, running a hand through his hair. “... I see.” Wincing internally at the guilty defeat in Genji’s voice, Hanzo turned and ruffled his hair gently, attempting to comfort after so many years of solitude.

 

“You couldn’t have saved them. Even I did not know that the elders were targeting those who you knew.”

 

“But…” Genji trailed off then straightened up. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll go back to Japan and visit their graves soon. It’s the least I can do. You’re staying, though, aren’t you?”

 

“Staying?”

 

“You aren’t going to leave with some shitty excuse like ‘I have to protect you,’ or whatever?”

 

“I have assassins trailing me, and your new ‘family’--”

 

“I /told/ you, my friends at Overwatch aren’t going to arrest or harass you. You’re not on our records or involved in crime anymore, you can start anew here. And when’s the last time you had to deal with an assassin?”

 

“... Two years.”

 

“See, it’s fine.” Hanzo looked away, but Genji pressed on. “Come on, brother. You don’t have to run anymore. Please, give this town a chance. Give us all a chance.”

 

“... Alright.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this chapter, I hope y'all enjoyed it! Big thanks to those who have kudo'd, bookmarked, and especially commented; it makes my day, truly! ^^
> 
> Some tidbits:  
> -Currently, McCree still has both of his arms, and Genji isn't cyborg-like.  
> -The characters are all canon age but Reyes is still here with us.
> 
> Feedback is much appreciated, since I want to improve future chapters and hear your thoughts! :>
> 
> You can find me on Twitter as @goldcarna! If you happen to have any questions about this AU or anything feel free to comment or DM me! ^^


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not able to participate in McHanzo Week this time, but kudos to all that have and are producing wonderful art and works! I hope you all have a lovely holidays!

McCree immediately knew that something was wrong with what he said when the shutters within Hanzo’s eyes closed forcefully, the man drawing back as if he had been stung. Technically, grabbing him in the first place was a bad idea -- McCree could tell that from his previous interactions with Hanzo -- but at that moment, all he could remember was what Genji told him: a nameless brother that was also involved in illegal business, an assassin, and the heir of an influential criminal empire to boot. He thought that the older Shimada was there for less than peaceful reasons, perhaps dealings or assigned murder, and his suspicions were seemingly confirmed when Hanzo neared that black briefcase he always carried around him, clenching the pin he had been using to sew McCree’s wound threateningly while emitting an aura that McCree could only describe as calculatingly murderous. However, his assumptions were flipped on their head when Genji came in and the aura was ripped to shreds, shock and relief visible on Hanzo’s face as he embraced his little brother. The combination of Genji’s reassurance and Hanzo’s affirmation of having no active interest in criminal activities, even wanting to “start anew”, convinced him to reevaluate his stance, quickly leaving the scene that was growing more personal by the second.

 

As he walked down the hall to leave, he heard the rapid clicks of a pair of high heels emit from behind him, a feminine voice telling him to wait. He turned and regarded Angela with a respectful nod, the latter doing the same but looking at him exasperatedly, drawing out a tiredly aggravated response from him.

 

“Look, I know I messed up back there but--”

 

“I wasn’t going to mention that, McCree,” she pointed at his right arm. “Don’t you want that stitched before you go?” McCree looked down and realized that in the midst of the tension and chaos, the wound was left open and only half-sewn, blood now dripping onto the tiled floor and leaving a trail of red dots following him from the cubicle.

 

“Oh, yeah.” The whole time that Angela patched him up in a side room, however, the two were silent, the only sound coming from the quiet purr of machines and the snips and ringing clatters of medical equipment. McCree left with a distant farewell and went home -- an apartment a comfortable distance away from the chaos of downtown-- stripping off his work clothes and reverting to an undershirt and boxers, and collapsed on his bed with a harsh exhale. After a few minutes of futile attempts at falling asleep, he stood back up, snatching a cigar and lighter left on a small table near a window. Opening the window and leaning out of it, he lit the cigar and breathed the smoke in, attempting to clear his mind as he gazed at the bright full moon. It took another hour for him to finally fall asleep.

 

He was a man on a self-appointed mission the next day, arriving at the clinic early in the morning, the pale blue sky slightly cloudy as it increasingly grew soft orange from the rising sun. Heat began to grace the freezing air that fogged with each exhale from his chapped lips, vainly trying to breathe warmth into his gloved palms. He heard a car roll into the parking lot and turned the corner of the building, coming face-to-face with Hanzo, who looked surprised and not at all delighted to see him, his grip tightening on that black briefcase. McCree raised his hands, elbows cocking at the hip in a classic surrendering pose as he tried to placate him.

 

“It’s alright, partner, I’m not here as part of my job.”

 

“Then why are you here?” Hanzo gave him a once-over, his eyes seemingly piercing through his clothes like an x-ray, and continued, “You seem to not be injured. What use is it to come here?” McCree lowered his arms, noting the dark circles under Hanzo’s eyes and the tired edge to his voice. McCree shifted his weight on another leg, suddenly slightly hesitant.

 

“I was wonderin’ if I could get ya a hot drink, maybe somethin’ caffeinated if you have some time? You look kinda tired.” His southern accent strengthened in his anxious state.

 

Hanzo’s brows furrowed and his mouth was set in a frown, but he seemed to contemplate his offer. “I was talking to Genji throughout the night, and I had forgotten to make some tea for myself. However... what is your motive?”

 

“Ya make it sound like I’m plannin’ on shanking you or somethin’,” McCree snorted, then hastily continued as Hanzo drew himself as if insulted. “It’s nothin’ bad, I promise. I just wanted to have a chance to apologize for yesterday, and hell, a hot drink ain’t bad for the soul on a day like this.”

 

“If you want to apologize, I accept it ahead of time.” Hanzo moved to walk around him, jaw set and tone curt.

 

“Wait,” McCree stepped into his path, much to Hanzo’s obvious dislike as a warning growl started in the back of the imperious man’s throat. “I don’t want there to be bad blood between us, Hanzo, especially over misunderstandings. I want to clear the waters if I can since I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other in the future, and I'd rather be on good terms with ya.” McCree met Hanzo’s slicing glare without flinching, his own gaze earnest as he tried to convey his honesty.

 

“...Fine.” Hanzo stepped back, making way to cross his arms but dropping them midway due to his briefcase, his scowl losing some of its edge. McCree quietly let out a relieved breath.

 

“Awesome, I know a good local coffee shop around here,” he informed enthusiastically, a bounce in his step as he motioned Hanzo to follow him down the street, the latter complying after a moment’s hesitation with a grumble.

 

“I’m not fond of coffee, it tastes like dirt.”

 

Feigning severe offense, McCree placed his hand over his heart and gasped. “Well, excuse me, partner, I can’t believe you would personally insult me like this.” Contrary to expectation, the corners of Hanzo’s mouth twitched up, the most positive response to his antics in the time that he knew him. The walk to the coffee shop was relatively silent, however, and McCree gave up on weak conversation starters after only receiving relatively short replies. Instead, he enjoyed the morning silence and the sky as he whistled a tune, noting that Hanzo’s grip on his briefcase eased as time passed. The coffee shop was a cute little thing on a street corner, bricks of warm, earthy colors making up the structure with white wooden frames bordering the multiple glass windows, a couple of foldable tables and chairs placed outside, a few heat lamps turned on to defrost the biting cold. A wooden sign hung from a horizontally suspended iron bar: Chronoscope Café. The two scuttled inside the building, immediately relaxing in the comforting warmth of the interior, the faint smell of vanilla and coffee grains mingling in the air with the flowing tune of some ambiance music. Chestnut brown tables filled the small area, as well as counter tables near the windows, yellow light from the overhead lamps casting a homely glow over everything. After basking in the warmth for a few moments, McCree turned to Hanzo, smiling and tilting his head at one of the tables. “Why don’t you make yerself comfortable, I’ll get something for us both. Not coffee,” he added, winking jokingly. The action seemed to fly over Hanzo’s head since he nodded distantly, looking quite content in the warmth, having stopped rubbing his upper arms a while ago. McCree approached the counter languidly, greeting the tired cashier with a chuckle. “Hey Lena, still wakin’ up?”

 

The British woman nodded, opening her mouth in a wide yawn as she waved, a sleepy smile on her freckled face. “College exams are a pain,” she complained before stretching and putting her hands on her hips cheerily. “What can I get you this morning, McCree?”

 

“Go ahead and get me a Venti Chai Latte -- non-fat, please, if you don’t mind. Make it two, lemme get one for my friend Hanzo over there.” He gestured towards Hanzo with a thumb, who was currently eyeing a bookshelf on the wall curiously, and Lena’s eyes brightened.

 

“Coming right up! Welcome to the cafe, love!” Hanzo’s head whipped around, seemingly surprised by the loud voice before he gave her a small, close-lipped smile, his seemingly permanent scowl easing and brows unknitting, eyes much kinder than earlier. McCree’s heart seemed to skip a beat-- from surprise, of course, he had never seen Hanzo make a facial expression other than frowning. Lena breezed through the process as if she was running one of her short-distance races, sliding the two cups towards him at record time. “Here you go!”

 

McCree tipped his hat at her with a charming smile and replied, “Thanks, Lena, good luck on those exams.” A well-natured groan answered his words and he chuckled, returning to the table where Hanzo sat, dropping himself into the seat opposite from him and sliding the drink across the table. “Here ya go, partner, ever tried a Venti Chai Latte before?”

 

Hanzo was peering at the drink, a slightly cautious but curious look on his face. “I have not.”

 

“It’s good stuff, try it.” McCree sipped his own drink, sighing contently as the warmth slid down his throat and into his stomach, the heat cozy in his abdomen. Hanzo tried his after a pause as well, face impassive as he tasted it.

 

“Not bad.”

 

“Told ya so,” McCree drawled, leaning back in the chair. “This is the proper way to spend a mornin’ in this town, I tell ya. It’s a nice place.” Hanzo hummed quietly in reply, sipping his drink as he continued to look around. They sat silently and enjoyed their drinks for a while, warming up as the sun peeked over the nearby buildings, golden rays shining through the windows. After a few content minutes, Hanzo broke the silence by clearing his throat as he set his cup down.

 

“As enjoyable as I admit this is, I believe you wanted to talk.” McCree drew a blank for a moment, completely immersed in the calm environment before he remembered what he had said earlier, swirling the half-empty cup in his hands.

 

“Oh, yeah.” He glanced at Lena, who had pulled a chair up and was currently pouring over tiny print notes, completely engrossed in whatever she was reading. “Wanna talk in here, or step outside for some privacy?”

 

“Outside.” They both made their way out of the door, McCree loudly exclaiming a thank-you towards Lena as they stepped back outside, both missing the inside of the cafe immediately as were hit with the temperature drop, huddling near a heat lamp as they held their cups with cold fingers. McCree broke the silence with a cough, shifting his weight from leg to leg as he willed to keep his body heat inside. “So yeah, I just wanted to apologize for what I did yesterday.”

 

“So I’ve heard.”

 

“It ain’t so simple,” McCree argued as he faced Hanzo, grasping the cooling drink with both hands, willing the warmth to give him the right words. Damn, he was never good at words in the first place. He sighed deeply, ruffling his beard. “You’ve been nothin' but good to me, dealing with my shit and patching me up every time, but I turned on ya just ‘cuz I had a hunch. I didn’t mean to make it seem like I was gonna hurt you, I was just caught off-guard from what Genji’s told me. Or lack of,” McCree grumbled.

 

“What has he told you about me?” Hanzo cocked his head at him, resigned obsidian eyes cool and level. “About my role in the yakuza, no doubt.”

 

McCree nodded. “Yeah, about how you were involved in the business, some crimes, your relation with him and yer older folk… He spoke good things about ya most of the time, to be honest. Forgave ya for threatening him the day he left.” McCree noticed that Hanzo’s grip around the cup tightened, a frown forming on his face again. “The first time I heard about that, I admit I thought ill of you a bit. But understand it better after hearing what you said yesterday. You were trying to protect Genji to go as far as to disobey your kin, and I respect that, Hanzo. Genji filled me in on how monumental of a choice that was in your home.” He glanced at Hanzo to gauge if he was articulating things right, and continued when he saw that Hanzo didn’t seem upset-- if anything, he looked slightly surprised.

 

“You know, he kept the promise. The one about forgetting you.” McCree saw Hanzo’s brows knit as he frowned deeper, and quickly forged on. “Probably heard more than you wanted me to, but I did. He never mentioned yer name, ya know, just that he had a brother, though each time he seemed pained. I thought he was constipated or somethin’,” he mused, inducing an incredulous scoff from Hanzo. “Kinda ended up makin’ more trouble, though, since I knew you differently as a Shimada. When I found out who you ‘really were’ and you reacted the way you did yesterday, I thought that you were still with the clan and here for an undercover assignment or somethin’.”

 

“No, I was not. Even if I was still with the clan, I would not have come all the way to America for something of that sort. I would be in Japan until my demise.” Hanzo explained, gazing at the frost on the windows thoughtfully. “However, I am curious; what made you change your perception of me?”

 

“After Genji came in, yer reaction didn’t match up who I thought you were. The more you two talked, the more I realized that my assumption on ya was wrong. You left. You want to forge a new path.’” He watched as his exhaled breath condensed in the cold air, drifting up and dissipating. “Who am I to judge and take away that right?”

 

“You’re an odd man. I would suppose that a law enforcer as you would judge someone with a background like mine.”

 

McCree sipped his drink which had become lukewarm, partly to buy time as he contemplated what to say, and he ultimately decided to be honest. “Well, I ain’t so different from ya.” He saw Hanzo turn his head towards him but kept his gaze ahead, hand itching to hold a cigar. “When I was a young whippersnapper in the Southwest, I was part of this gang -- Deadlock, it was called -- that was involved in illegal substance and weapon traffickin’. Did a load of bad shit back in the day: murderin’, robbin’... other stuff that I don’t even want to remember.” He paused, caught in the memories of the younger days for a moment. Blazing sun and sweltering heat. An unchanging desert with nothing but small game and cacti. Vultures flying in circles above them waiting for the next corpse, nature’s way of labeling who they were: lawless executioners. “We roamed into this city couple o’ decades ago for some dealings, but the Overwatch Police Department intercepted us. I was caught along with some of the other folk, and… well, Gabe -- the commander, basically -- found something worth it in the good-for-nothin’ person I was. Took me in instead of throwin’ me in jail, showed me the right path.” A heavy pause. “I owe him my life.

 

“In the beginning, I was pretty damn cynical. Didn’t think I could make up for my sins, but you know what Gabe said? ‘The difference between someone who is redeemable or not is whether they put their blood, sweat, and tears into it.’ So after all of this, I would be a hypocrite to judge ya by your past and deny yer right to start over. Especially since you’re savin’ lives now, not takin’ them. My life would’ve taught me nothin’. ” McCree sighed deeply, a tad worn from going down memory lane and telling his history for the first time in many years, and to someone like Hanzo, no less. He finally shifted his gaze to Hanzo, who was staring at him with a penetrating gaze; he felt as if he was looking into his soul. Swallowing, he shifted his weight to another foot, a habit of his when he is anxious. “You get me?”

 

There was no answer and a silence stretched between them, one that became more uncomfortable for McCree by the second. He was about to say something when Hanzo finally spoke, his voice quiet and composed. “I am thankful for your explanation, as well as your honesty... I can understand your concerns, as they would’ve been relevant a few years ago. They are no more.

 

“I also want to thank you for taking care of Genji when I was… absent. From what I have heard from him, you helped him through much hardship.”

 

McCree blinked, surprised by the smooth resolution and the fact that now it was /him/ who was being thanked by such a prideful and private man-- and a former member of a yakuza, no less. “Happy to help, he’s a good fella. That’s what friends are for, ain’t it?”

 

Hanzo looked away from him and finished his drink, dark clouds materializing in his eyes as he lowered the cup. “... Yes, I suppose so.” McCree could almost feel Hanzo retreating back into the shell he wore when they first met; he supposed that that was probably the end of the conversation. He checked his watch nonchalantly, then yelped and swore loudly when he realized that his shift had technically started already.

 

“Fuckin ‘ell, it’s 6 AM! Gabe is gonna kill me!” Hanzo started, checking his own quickly then turned on McCree, golden hair tie whipping around the frame of his face in his haste.

 

“You fool, why did you not tell me!?”

 

“I was too busy talkin’ to you and enjoying my latte, sue me!”

 

Hanzo quickly hefted his business bag, throwing the cup into a nearby trashcan with uncanny accuracy. “Perhaps I will; good day!” The two ran in opposite directions, one back towards the clinic and another towards the main street. When McCree had run a few yards away, he turned on his heel back towards Hanzo briefly, who was running quite gracefully considering that he was lugging a briefcase. Momentarily transfixed, he stared at Hanzo’s golden scarf that billowed behind him like a kite, the circular designs on the strip of cloth gleaming like the sun rising above the buildings. McCree turned back around after a few seconds and bounded towards the center of the city like a coyote, the threads of his serape shining a vibrant red under the same star.

 

\---

 

As he ran down the main street to the rendezvous point in the city to meet Genji, a telltale rumble of a motorcycle sounded behind him, a male voice shouting his name. He turned and saw Genji on a police motorcycle, orange scarf whipping behind him as he screeched to a stop next to him. “Get on, hurry up! We have a target!” McCree virtually leaped onto the back of the motorcycle as Genji stepped on the accelerator, blasting off with a loud screech and the smell of burned rubber.

 

“What took you so long, I already made rounds around the main street without you. Did you oversleep again?” McCree puffed out a breathy “wait” and bent over slightly, one hand wrapped around Genji’s torso and another gripping his hat, attracting a few glances from passerby. He was definitely not as young as he claimed he was.

 

“We can talk about that later, who are we chasin’?” Genji quickly passed him the tablet with the city map pulled up, a red blinking signal emitting from a bank a few blocks away.

 

“Got an armed robbery, ten guys geared with guns of varying caliber. Pharah commed in earlier, she said that she’ll meet us there.”

 

“Another one? Jeez,” McCree grunted as he watched the red dot move across the map swiftly, heading in their direction. “Heh, seems like we’ll intercept them -- Huh-ho!” A flurry of commotion erupted in front of them, civilian cars honking and screeching to a halt as they crashed into each other in a vain attempt to avoid a line of motorcycles that flew past the intersection on a red light, driving in a formation that screamed of organized crime. “I believe we found who we were looking for,” McCree yelled over Genji’s swears, the latter swerving around multiple wreckages, head whipping from side to side as he viewed the damage. The comm crackled from the front and McCree grabbed it, wincing as Pharah’s voice boomed from the small device.

 

“I see you two, I’m on my way to intercept them!”

 

McCree replied “Roger that,” then paused, eyes narrowing. “Wait a mo’, Pharah, how many bikes are you tailin’?”

 

“Six bikes, eight members.”

 

“Means there are two left. Genji, help Pharah out without me!”

 

“What? McCree, stop!” Genji tried to grab his arm to no avail as McCree launched himself off of the bike, rolled on the glass-strewn asphalt -- the shards digging into his arms -- and dashed to a grimacing civilian who had fallen off of his now mess of a motorcycle.

 

“Sorry sir, but I’ll be needing that!” The man only had a moment to blink and nod before McCree righted the vehicle and shot off on it, resolutely ignoring the voices of his teammates from his comm as he glanced at the tablet and stashed it in a cracked side compartment. His intuition was deemed correct when he rounded a few corners in the opposite direction and saw two bikers who were carrying large backpacks, guns drawn at their sides. So that whole ruckus /was/ a diversion. Cheeky. McCree swerved into another alleyway and accelerated, his surroundings becoming but a blur as he kept his eye on the two criminals between the cracks of various buildings before screeching back onto the street they were driving on, timed just right for them to almost crash into the motorcycle. The two black-clad men crudely swore as they veered away from him harshly, losing balance as their bikes slid from underneath them and discarded them on the ground gracelessly. Slowing his (borrowed) vehicle to a halt and jumping off of it, McCree swiped the edge of his serape away and withdrew a silver revolver, the metal glinting coldly in the light, and aimed the weapon at them. “Reach for the sky, boys. Fun’s over.”

 

The two men stood up slowly, tinted face shields cracked and jackets torn and dirty from their tumble, hands above their heads in an obviously reluctant manner. McCree’s gaze flitted over their vests and rested on an unfortunately familiar insignia. “Talon, huh?” His tone was no longer light and had become openly hostile. “What shit are you tryin’ to start now? I’ve just about had it with y’all.”

 

One of the men choked out a laugh and tilted his head. “I would say the same to you, Jesse McCree. How long are you going to play hero?”

 

“I ain’t one. But I’m sure as hell not the likes of you.”

 

A cackle. “Keep telling yourself that.” McCree gripped his gun tighter; the croaking scream of a vulture echoed in his head. He has run out of patience.

 

“Shut yer trap before I take your eye out.”

 

The man grinned wickedly. “Oh, like we did with Ana Amari?” A flashing memory of blood and screams tore through McCree’s conscious.

 

A shot echoed through the dark alleyway.

 

\---

 

“So, Talon is on the move again, huh?” McCree hummed affirmingly as he stood next to the window looking into the interrogation room, his eyes trained on the two criminals, one of them heavily bandaged with blood still dripping onto the ground from his wounds. Gabriel sighed next to him with his arms crossed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “They never learn.”

 

“Pharah and Genji captured the other eight Talon folk but said they didn’t have anythin’ pronounced on them, just illegal weapons. These two,” McCree gestured with disdain, “gotta be different if they were worth making a diversion for.”

 

“Hmph. So Amélie was right.”

 

McCree shifted his gaze to Gabriel, surprised. “Amélie contacted you? When?”

 

“Yeah, yesterday night. She warned me in her message that a branch of Talon was headed towards us, but they weren’t going to prepare a large strike; at least, not yet. It makes sense, since in this case they just stole a load of cash. Probably to buy more shit.”

 

“Well if Amélie went out of her way to notify us, this can’t be good news.”

 

“No, it isn’t. Hopefully, they just wound back here for a pitstop, simple theft and black market transactions and all that, but we shouldn’t become complacent. Who knows what they’ll do. But that was all she could gather, said that she doesn’t want to attract suspicion by seeming too interested in what goes on here.”

 

“Because of what happened to Gérard Lacroix?” A nod answered him.

 

“The last thing she wants to remind them about is her connection to this city, and that she joined them after they killed him. /Any/ connection is a risk. But she's clever, she won’t get found out unless it's part of her planning.” McCree glanced at the two people in the interrogation room. One of them, the one he had shot, made eye contact with him and grinned, teeth bloody. Gabriel followed McCree’s gaze and glared at the man, who balked and leaned back into the chair he was shackled in, eyes trained anywhere else but the two men on the other side of the window. “By the way, why did you shoot that shitstain? Not that it was a mistake, but you usually refrain from it unless it’s a dire situation.”

 

“... He brought up Ana.”

 

Gabriel clucked his tongue in disgust, brow furrowing. “Then he asked for it... Have you visited her recently?”

 

“A week ago. I was planning on payin’ her a visit later.”

 

“Then go do that,” Gabriel pulled off his gloves, flexing his fingers -- his knuckles were scarred from past conflicts -- and stalked towards the door, tone low and loathing, though it wasn’t directed at McCree, or anyone, it seemed. “I’ll handle these dumbasses myself.”

 

McCree grabbed his sleeve before he could pass him, demanding, “Wait, I’ll help out.” Gabriel barely turned around, only twisting his neck to regard him out of the corner of his eye.

 

“You have stuff to do, McCree.”

 

“There are two of them, an extra interrogator won’t hurt. B’sides,” he thought as an afternote, “Ya shouldn’t have to bloody your hands more than I do.” The scars that littered Gabriel’s bearded face shone under the yellow fluorescent lights, the shadows under his eyes clearly pronounced and the grim expression he wore evolved into something else: exhaustion. “You’re already hurtin’.”

 

There was a moment of silence, then Gabriel sighed and faced him once more with an exasperated look, but McCree noticed a hint of relief in those chocolate eyes. “Fine. I’ll take the one you shot, you take the other one. Radio in to Genji and ask him if he can cover for you; he can partner with someone in the other division if he needs the help.” McCree nodded and excused himself, lounging on the couch in the break room as he contacted Genji, who expressed concern for Talon’s reappearance but stayed hopeful, promising that they can go get udon later downtown. He returned to the interrogation room in higher spirits, but when he was alone and night fell, he was back on his patio with a cigar in hand, a slightly bloodied rag hanging from his fingers.

 

\---

 

The next morning, McCree languidly walked to the Chronoscope Café as per usual, his somewhat tattered serape tightly wrapped around his torso to protect him from the frigid air. He ushered himself inside of the empty cafe, relaxing as the warmth seeped into his bones, and heartily greeted Lena, who looked more awake than the day before. He ambled over to her with a smile that she returned twofold, her pearly white teeth shining in the light. “Hi, McCree,” she chirped, a hand discreetly holding a croissant behind the counter.

 

“Hey there, good to see that you are feelin’ better.” He chuckled, raising an eyebrow as his gaze lowered slightly, joking, “And it seems that you’ve nabbed a pick-me-up, ya sneaky devil.”

 

Lena pouted and placed the croissant on the counter, the pastry already half-eaten. “Aw, thought you wouldn’t notice.”

 

“I’ve got sharp eyes, partner,” he grinned, tapping his temple with a gloved finger. “Since when have ya taken to nabbing food?”

 

“Caffeine can only do so much, love. Besides, the owner owes me since he makes me go overtime sometimes.”

 

McCree frowned, wild brows furring slightly. “Ain’t that against yer contract? I don’t much like the sound of you getting less sleep than you get.”

 

Smirking and waving her hand dismissively, she replied, “Nah, I don’t mind. I love these. Though Amélie always insisted that they weren’t ‘real croissants.’” She puffed out her chest and arched her back, putting on an exaggerated face of disgust as she imitated the French woman. “‘These abominations are a disgrace to /true/ croissants, I can’t believe you like this garbage.’”

 

“Nice one, Lena,” McCree sniggered, the imitation surprisingly on point and reminding him of his previous interactions with Amélie, which were actually quite amusing because of how haughty the woman was towards him.

 

“Aww thanks,” Her smile slowly dropped off of her face and she wrung her hands, continued quietly after a pause, “I miss her.”

 

McCree sobered and gazed at her sympathetically, gently placing a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. “I know, Lena... I’m sorry.” He bit his tongue, refraining from talking about the return of Talon and Amélie’s message. The last thing he wanted to do was add additional stress on the young woman, but it didn’t make him feel good to withhold information, especially about Amélie. He just hoped that Lena would forgive him.

 

“It’s not your fault, love. We were all unprepared.”

 

“Yeah…” He withdrew, uneasy with the heavy silence.

 

Lena suddenly shook out of her state, slapping back her smile with alarming speed. “What do you want today, McCree?” He started.

 

“Uh, an espresso, please, medium.”

 

“Will do!” The transaction was smooth (and frankly, quite hasty) and he retreated to a window seat in the corner, listlessly sipping his drink as he occupied his mind with the routes he needed to patrol that day, then jolted when he remembered that he had forgotten to visit Ana the day before, having been wrapped up with the “interrogation.” He swore at himself, gripping the cup with more force than advised as shame swept over him. He hurried out of the cafe, the shockingly cold air greeting him as he sifted through his pockets for a cigar, bringing one to his mouth and lighting it up quickly. Breathing in the smoke, he tried to calm himself down, willing for the anxiety to cease as the nicotine rushed through his veins. His phone buzzed in his pocket, a text popping up from Genji when he opened it.

 

FROM: GENJI

_Eyyyy Eastwood, you at the cafe?_  

TO: GENJI

_Yeah, why you asking?_  

FROM: GENJI

_Could you get me a glazed doughnut? I’ll pay you back. Hanzo said that my diet is “horrifying” and took away my snack stash X-(_

TO: GENJI

_Lol RIP, that sounds like him_

FROM GENJI:

_Even you can tell, why did he have to get a medical degree? Help pls :-(_  

TO GENJI:

_Alright, I’ll get you one_

FROM: GENJI

_Thxxxx you’re a lifesaver, try not to get hurt before you come to the station_

TO: GENJI

_Yeah yeah, I’ll try. Ttyl_

 

McCree chuckled as he smothered the cigar’s flame and stashed away the remaining nub and the phone, going back inside to order a doughnut and a box of tea bags. before going to the station where he gave a melodramatic Genji his pastry. As soon as his shift ended, McCree swiftly made his way to the main hospital that Mercy Emergency Clinic was built near. The facility was much larger than the clinic, as expected, almost a white temple cropped in the midst of other buildings. Of course, it depended on the eyes of the Beholder; to him, the hospital held more pain, suffering, and regrets than anything else. The attendee at the desk waved him through, already recognizing him from his previous visits, handing out a “visitor” sticker as she answered a phone call. Slapping the sticker on his chest, he strode through the winding halls and multiple elevators and entered the LTAC Wing, the clinking of his spurs echoing through the empty halls. He stopped when he found the door he was looking for -- D10 -- and knocked twice, quietly entering the room when a soft “Come in” answered him.

 

A single figure sat on the hospital bed, gazing outside of the window at the horizon. Despite the multiple bandages wrapped around her head and face and her aged appearance, her posture was strong and regal, snow-white hair tucked under a royal blue hijab. Ana. McCree stood by the doorway, took off his hat, and pressed it to his chest, bowing his head in respect. “Hello, ma’am.”

 

“Oh, stop that. You are not a new recruit anymore. Come, sit.” The corners of McCree’s mouth perked up and he obeyed, sitting in an armchair that was slightly too small for him. Ana was looking at him squarely in the eyes now, amber-gold versus mahogany. The elderly woman smiled, the corner of her undamaged eye crinkling as the yellow sunlight ambled through the window. “It’s good to see that you are in one piece, Jesse.”

 

“And to you too, ma’a--Ana.” The two chuckled a bit from the slip. “By the way, I thought you might want this, since you liked the cafe’s tea.” He took out the box of tea bags from underneath his serape, and Ana’s eyes brightened, the lines on her face softening as she accepted the box.

 

“Oh thank you, Jesse, that is very thoughtful of you.” She looked at the box label and continued, "Ah, this is my favorite herb, lovely!" McCree smiled at her delight, happy that he was able to brighten her day even a little.

 

“Anytime, Ana. How are you doing? Is recovery goin’ alright?”

 

Ana raised her hand and pointed at her damaged eye, which was covered with tape, cotton, and bandages. “Yes, I’ve made peace with the fact that this old friend must rest. It is hurting less these days, so I will count that as a success. The doctors estimate that I will be released in a few months.

 

“A few months, huh… Already feels like you’ve been in here for years.”

 

“Oh, believe me, I feel the same way. I miss being able to go outside, more so being able to be on the field.”

 

“Ana, you’ve done enough, please don’t push yourself.”

 

“My service is needed. Talon is back, are they not?”

 

McCree jolted, surprised. “How’d you know that?”

 

“I have my ways,” Ana hummed, then leaned forward intently. “What is the situation out there? And be honest, McCree. You do not have to protect me from the truth.” The conversation with Lena earlier in the day flashed through McCree’s mind, and he told her everything without hesitation: the chase, Talon’s return, and Amélie’s message. After he finished, she lay back, thoughtful. “I see… How is everybody else taking it?”

 

“Worried, but alright,” he replied, frowning. “Gabe isn’t taking it the best, but I don’t blame ‘im.”

 

“Of course… How are you taking it? He may decide to reactivate Blackwatch if the situation escalates.”

 

A silence fell as McCree fiddled with the brim of his hat, floundering slightly. “Well, I ain’t happy about it. As for Blackwatch… Well, I’ll do what I gotta do.”

 

Ana sighed and shook her head. “Have you ever thought about what /you/ want, McCree?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this chapter, I hope y'all enjoyed it! Big thanks to those who have kudo'd, bookmarked, and especially commented; it makes my day, truly! ^^
> 
> Some tidbits:  
> -Currently, McCree still has both of his arms, and Genji isn't cyborg-like.  
> -The characters are all canon age but Reyes is still here with us.  
> -LTAC stands for "Long-Term Acute Care."  
> -The eye of Horus is officially categorized as D10 in lists of Egyptian hieroglyphs.
> 
> Feedback is much appreciated, since I want to improve future chapters and hear your thoughts! :>
> 
> You can find me on Twitter as @goldcarna! If you happen to have any questions about this AU or anything feel free to comment or DM me! ^^


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *bangs pots and pans* GUESS WHO'S BACK, BACK AGAIN

Hanzo may not outright admit it, but reuniting with Genji was the best thing that had happened to him in the last few years, something he had already given up on during his aimless wanderings from city to city. Distant from his home and anyone he knew, he had come to terms with the fact that he would probably never see his dear brother again. When the thought had first crossed his mind, he was angry and bitter at their fates, but as the years flowed by, the anger was replaced with sorrow, and finally resignation. Unable to fully assimilate into normal society with his constant unwanted entourage of assassins and his distrust of others, he walked the line between the normal life he never had and the life in the shadows that he was all too familiar of. Gibraltar was the latest town that he decided to settle in, and it was there, amidst the chaos of that day, that he was reunited with Genji. How unpredictable life is.

 

He was firstly glad about simply how well Genji looked. Compared to the sneering, rebellious Genji before he left the clan, antagonizing the elders and dressing in a manner that Hanzo would still call atrocious, Genji seemed calmer and happier overall, finally losing that defiant yet saddened expression that became permanent in their younger years. After a few minutes at the clinic, Genji had dragged Hanzo to his abode -- decorated and arranged to his liking, finally, instead of being constricted by their family -- and discussed various things with him rapidly in Japanese, catching up on lost time. Apparently, after Genji fled the clan, he had jumped from country to country and finally ended up in Gibraltar, where he decided to become the people that he initially worked against: the police. It was there that he met McCree and many others, and despite the fact that Gabriel, the head of the department, found out Genji’s past through research and “other means”, he had let him stay in the department.

 

“Turned out that Overwatch hired a lot of people with less flowery pasts,” Genji mused, chewing on a toothpick as he reclined on a huge green beanbag. “Gabriel has the eyes of a hawk-- no, an owl, probably -- and can tell someone who ‘has potential’ versus the ones that are plain crap.” Hanzo hummed, sitting slightly stiffly on the couch, still marveling at how much Genji had flourished alone, contrary to his earlier belief that his younger brother was hopeless in life skills other than flirting and completing dares for money and “street cred.” “Really, the people here are great, Hanzo.” Genji sat up, his tone now more serious and directed at his older brother. “They accepted me and I’m sure they’ll accept you, too. I know that you’re still ambivalent about all of this, but please give this city a chance. Gibraltar is the best place to start over as any… so don’t run off again.”

 

Hanzo huffed. “I never did, that was always you. I was the one that had to stall Father and the others before they found out.”

 

“Physically running away isn’t the only way to create distance.”

 

“...A valid point.” The awkward and dense silence was thankfully broken when Genji’s stomach growled loudly as if there were a den of lions roaring from within. “Have you not eaten?”

 

“No, I have. Don’t worry about it, I’ve always had a high metabolism.”

 

Hanzo raised his eyebrow and pointed at the pile of instant ramen and empty boxes of take-out pizza discreetly pushed into a corner. “And I can assure you that living off of that unhealthy garbage won’t last you long.”

 

“Oh, come on,” Genji whined, flopping back onto the beanbag. “I didn’t bring you here so you can start judging my lifestyle.”

 

“Please, I’m looking out for you. If you are to operate at your highest potential, instant food is only going to hold you back.”

 

“Did you get a medical degree just so you could bother me again?”

 

“No, but I might as well start now.” Genji seemed to have caught onto Hanzo’s joking tone-- as settle and rare as it was-- and grinned, propping himself up on an elbow.

 

“Why did you even decide to go into the medical field, by the way? I didn’t think you were the type for that.”

 

“I had a few options during my travels for sources of income, but I preferred how independent the field was in comparison to some others. It gave me something to do, at least.”

 

“Well, you’ve always been a lock-down-and-study kind of person.” Genji’s eyes suddenly brightened. “Hey, have you been around town much? Downtown?”

 

“No, I have not. I’ve been only at the clinic and the outskirts.”

 

“Thought so. There’s a really good ramen shop near the arcade place I go to, wanna go with me sometime? It has my stamp of approval on it!”

 

Hanzo smiled slowly, a single bud of happiness blooming in his chest. “That sounds wonderful.”

 

As the hours passed, the two brothers became more relaxed and informal, languidly talking about more mundane things until dawn started to encroach, upon which Hanzo excused himself to go to work but not before returning Genji’s crushing hug, happier than he had been in years. The two had finally reunited.

 

As promised, Genji began to take Hanzo around to explore the town after his shift at the police department, enthusiastically showing him his favorite shops and restaurants as they walked side by side, gazing at the bright city scenery and chatting as they enjoyed each other’s company, catching up on lost time. The ramen restaurant that Genji had mentioned was a cozy little thing, straw-woven banners hanging from the entrance that the brothers ducked under and giving way to a traditional wooden build of a ramen shop. The food was indeed of good quality, the atmosphere, structure, and scents of the shop reminding him painfully of the hometown he was exiled from-- Hanamura, Japan -- and as he sat at the long, wooden counter table ate and listened Genji converse with one of the chefs, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of melancholy nostalgia; this was probably the closest to home he would ever experience again.

 

The next few days were somewhat of a transformation for Hanzo, as settle as it was. He began to notice things about his colleagues that he didn’t before, partly because of his previous belief that his stay was going to be a month or two at most before he would have to move on. For example, he noticed that Mei was the one responsible for the abundance of plants inside of the facility and the cups of plum tea that all staff members would find on their tables when they would come in. Reinhardt simultaneously loved dragons and wanted to fight them--another reason for Hanzo to wear long sleeve shirts. Torbjorn would look at pictures of his eight children stashed away in his wallet when he was stressed or prickly after dealing with a difficult visitor. Lucio, despite his rather loud and energetic nature, was surprisingly knowledgeable and professional when dealing with a patient or their loved ones, having a knack of calming others. They continued to treat him well, greeting him heartily in the hallways and commending him when he finished treating waves of patients, genuinely positive feedback that he was not used to. Even Angela, whom he had approached to apologize for his hostile and disruptive behavior on the day where he reunited with Genji, simply smiled and shook her head, insisting that as long as there were proper clarifications between him, Genji, and McCree and there were no more problems, things were alright with her. And so the days passed in the clinic with no significant problems or surprises, a calm atmosphere that Hanzo was not very used to, but perhaps would become so with time.

 

Well, mostly without problems, if he could even call it that. Despite his earlier warnings, McCree seemed to find ways to get himself in some kind of predicament that ended with injury, consequently winding back at the clinic frequently in the days following, looking at him with no shame as he made light of the fact that more often than not, he was making a right mess on the tiled floor.

 

“There may not be a time when you are so lucky,” Hanzo once grumbled as he checked the bleeding of McCree’s head wound -- caused by a stray bullet -- and wrapped it in gauze.

 

“Life will have to try harder than this to do me in,” McCree easily answered, tapping his fingers on his hat on his chest and grinning. “I’ve survived this long without losing a limb, and I reckon I’ve got some spare luck on my side.”

 

Hanzo sighed and grumbled without heat, “At this rate, losing a limb is a possibility.”

 

“Aw, come on, Hanzo, don’t be like that.” Hanzo snorted, a mix of amused and exasperated at the drawling, sing-song tone, and finished patching him up and walked the policeman over to the exit.

 

“And I hope I don’t see you here again for an avoidable mistake, McCree.”

 

McCree winked back at him, an easy grin on his face as he tipped the brim of his hat. “As if I could keep myself from seeing ya, partner.”

 

And, indeed, Hanzo’s treatment of McCree settled into a routine: answer to a loud disturbance in the waiting room, bring McCree to The Cubicle -- he’s been there enough for it to become capitalized -- and ask him how he got himself injured, chat while he patched him up, and finally send him off with a “Be careful next time.” Hanzo, dare he admit it, enjoyed his company. Compared to the monotony of suffering and crying that he endured with regular patients, McCree was almost the sun in the gray clouds, shining through the dullness with his absurd stories, ceaseless jangling of spurs, and his ever-bright smile. He paused. Since when did he start comparing McCree to the sun, of all things?

 

And then there was that morning at the cafe, when the man apologized for alarming him, which in itself was unforeseen, but also shared some of his own background. He was somewhat surprised that McCree had gone that far to even the grounds--while it may have been to put his own conscience to rest rather than an actual apology, Hanzo didn’t sense that from McCree when he was talking to him. The man was very earnest and was, as far as he could tell, telling the truth. And despite Hanzo’s quiet anxiety with being so honest with the man, McCree seemed to have no intention of repeating that information in any way and continued to regard him cheerily, as if the conversation had never happened. In which case, he allowed himself to find some solace in that others with bloody pasts could live, rather than survive, in Gibraltar. Perhaps there truly was some hope for him.

 

With that gradual realization, Hanzo found himself back at the Chronoscope Café increasingly often, enjoying the calm, homely atmosphere immensely, and the chai latte wasn’t the worst drink he has had during his roaming years. He dabbled in different beverages and often reclined in one of the chairs near the bookshelf, reading a variety of books, and even engaged in some quiet conversations with Lena, who appeared to be alright with his company. It was a lovely place, in his opinion, to relax before the hectic hours of working in an emergency clinic, and his visits eventually transformed into a routine.

 

One frigid morning, he slipped inside of the building, taking off the hood of his coat, and was surprisingly met with McCree and Lena having an animated conversation, the former leaning laxly on the counter, an easy smile on his lips as he chatted with the woman. Something about the scene transfixed Hanzo; it wasn’t as if McCree was wearing anything different -- he was still donning his absurd cowboy boots and hat -- but the two were so obviously comfortable in each other’s company, joking and laughing without a care. It was just so /warm/, and Hanzo felt as if he was being burned by it, so cold from self-isolation and ostracization that the obvious affection and trust tore at his nerves and starkly reminded him of what he didn’t have, what he didn’t allow himself. Hanzo shuffled back, discreetly retreating, but his movement was caught by Lena, who grinned and waved cheerily, greeting him with a loud “Heya, Hanzo!” McCree followed her gaze and turned around as well, the curiosity on his face morphing into pleasant surprise, a smile forming on his lips as he raised a hand. “Howdy!” Well, there goes his plan for escaping the situation.

 

“I’ll fix up the regular in a jiffy,” Lena yelled, dashing from counter to counter at a speed only describable as impressive, and Hanzo caved to the situation and walked forward, slightly awkward as he stood a comfortable distance away from McCree, who jumped on initiating a conversation, eyes bright as he drummed his fingers on a table.

 

“Well I’ll be damned, you got a regular already? Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

 

Hanzo huffed, “Am I not allowed to go where I please? I find this place pleasant.”

 

“Naw naw, you’re free to be wherever you are, partner. It’s just I didn’t think you’d like this place.”

 

“I may not be the warmest person, but I am not impartial to a good beverage.” He added after a pause, “I hope I was not interrupting something.”

 

McCree chortled and leaned back on his heels, reaching out and patting his back solidly before he could move. “Nah, just friendly talk. You’re just fine, darlin’, no worries.” He could feel the warmth of McCree’s hand through his jacket and shirt. Hanzo hummed lowly, disengaging from the contact and thanking Lena quietly for the drink that she slid across the counter, the contents miraculously not spilling, and stood back against a table. McCree joining him with his drink a minute later, his dark brown eyes scanning the brightening horizon lazily.

 

“How you like the city so far? And Angela’s clinic?”

 

Hanzo sipped on his drink slowly, mulling over the question. “It is fine, they have been very accepting so far and have been good coworkers. No complications.” A pause. “They are good people.” McCree glanced at Hanzo momentarily then flickered back, his crimson serape swishing around him as he raised his drink to his lips, copper locks shining in the incoming sunlight.

 

“Yeah, they are... You stayin’ in this city, partner?” Hanzo regarded him with a frown, cup frozen halfway to his lips. McCree was tapping his fingers on the side of his cup, looking anywhere but at Hanzo.

 

“Did Genji mention something?”

 

“Naw, just got the vibe that you’re a wanderer. I was one once, so I kinda could tell that you’ve been around.”

 

Hanzo sipped his drink, prolonging the silence until he finally spoke. “Yes, I intend on staying. I will attempt to… settle down, as one could put it.”

 

Despite McCree’s best efforts, a relieved grin tugged at his lips. “This is the best town for that, Hanzo. Glad to have ya.” Hanzo stared at him; the smile on McCree’s face lightened up the room, the corner of the man’s eyes showing the faintest traces of crow’s feet, the mark of many laughs and joys experienced. He really was like the sun. Hanzo looked away; he has always lived in the night, the shadows. This was all so new, and while he couldn’t help but draw away to protect himself, a part of himself found that he wasn’t impartial to his new situation.

 

“...Thank you.” When he departed the cafe that morning, he didn’t think that he would find himself coming back to it, and yet he did the next day. And the next. And the day after that. Each time, he would enter the homely cafe and find McCree leaned against a brick wall, who tipped his hat upwards to uncover his eyes and smiled broadly at him, ecstatic to find him back again. Despite how much their personalities seemed to conflict, they found something to talk about every time they met, their conversations elaborating in content and length each time. They languidly discussed various topics while they sipped their drinks, occasionally engaging in banter. “You know,” McCree chuckled once after Hanzo made a dry joke, “You’re one interesting guy, partner.”

 

“I could say the same for you,” Hanzo retorted, the tiniest of smirks on his lips as he lifted the cup of hot chocolate. “You’re a walking anachronism.”

 

“You’ll never let that go, will you?”

 

“It is an obvious observation, what can I say? It is as if you were ripped from a world centuries ago.”

 

McCree cockled his hip, looking down at him in mock offense. “I ain’t that old, partner, I’m one of the best shooters in town.” He patted the side of his belt, which held a silver-like gun in its holster. “Nobody’s challenged Peacekeeper n’ lived to tell the tale.”

 

If Hanzo had any less control over his muscles, he would’ve snorted. “I find myself not believing your claim. A man who boasts is rarely as skilled as he says he is.”

 

“You challenging me, partner?” Hanzo hummed, raising his eyebrow at the sudden, almost predatory focus in McCree’s eyes.

 

“Perhaps I am, gunslinger. I am curious about how skilled you truly are… though your medical record says otherwise.”

 

“Oh come on now, Hanzo, don’t sass me,” McCree pouted, eliciting an amused “hah” from the Japanese man. “I can take care of myself just fine. And stop that,” McCree shoved Hanzo’s shoulder playfully in response to the antagonizing smirk.

 

Of course, it was only just a few days later that McCree came in with a deep knife cut in his torso, bleeding profusely and creating not a puddle, but a lake of blood around him.

 

Torbjorn had radioed into him and grumbled that “that idiot is in here again,” a chorus of murmurs and screams blaring at him as background noise. Hanzo rushed downstairs and flung the “MEDICAL” doors, only to come face-to-face with McCree, who exclaimed a surprised “Huh ho!” and stepped back. Looking quite nonchalant considering that he was dyed red more than any other color, McCree smiled and warmly greeted him. “There you are, thought that I would have to go in there m’self.”

 

“McCree!” He ushered him in, stuck between being cross and concerned, Torbjorn’s complaint of how much he has to clean up muffling as the doors closed. “What in the world did you get into?”

 

“Well,” McCree drawled easily, smearing a red path of blood on the floor behind him. “Was caught off-guard a bit, didn’t have my chestplate on today. Had to manage some folk with a bit more gear than usual. B’sides, that thing ain’t the most comfortable to wear.”

 

“I would hope that you remember next time, because being theatrical with your entrances don’t grant you any points. I am surprised that you have so much blood to spare,” Hanzo commented as they walked to the same cubicle, which was always open (he once thought he saw Angela discreetly putting an “occupied” sign on the cubicle curtain when McCree wasn’t there). “Was nobody else there to assist?”

 

“Naw, just me. Don’t worry yer pretty little head, I’ve always been a solo man.”

 

“Do not call me that,” Hanzo sharply retorted. “You are not alone, McCree. You have friends and people who care about you and who will fight by your side.” Hanzo pushed the whisper that threaded through his head into the corner of his mind: “But I do not.”

 

McCree sat down gingerly, a harsh huff escaping him as he hunched slightly, his obvious pain and discomfort twisting the smile that he was giving Hanzo. “Well… Yeah, but it’s easier to handle things m’self.” Hanzo sighed and removed McCree’s hand from his side to look at the wound, but the red flannel shirt he was wearing made it impossible to distinguish where the cut was, blood mingling with the fabric into one sea of red.

 

“Take your shirt off.” McCree’s grin dropped and he looked at Hanzo with surprised, wide eyes.

 

“‘Xuse me?”

 

Hanzo backtracked, waving his hand in front of him and shaking his head, cheeks burning slightly from knowing how McCree interpreted his statement. “Do not be lewd, I cannot see the wound otherwise.”

 

“Oh, alright then.” As McCree started to shimmy out of his shirt, Hanzo turned around to give him privacy and slipped out of the cubicle, gathering some equipment for cleaning and stitching. He pushed aside the curtain and entered the cubicle again, holding the tray of equipment under one arm, and froze at the sight in front of him. McCree had turned his back to him, his uninjured side of his body out of the shirt. The muscles on his back rippled as he flexed and struggled to pull the shirt over his head, pale scars from bullet holes and other wounds scattered on his tawny back. “Ey, Hanzo, can ya help me with this?” Hanzo snapped out of his trance and moved in front of him, purposefully not looking at McCree’s exposed torso and instead concentrating on his shirt and wound. It was thankfully not as deep as Hanzo expected, not damaging any organs but painful and bloody, nonetheless. Hanzo went to work when McCree laid down on the bed, cleaning off the blood and the wound while analyzing the extent of the damage. He refused to admit to himself that he was constantly getting distracted, eyes occasionally flickering further down to behold his well-built body, muscles prominent even with the bit of softening from age, gathering his attention more than he expected or liked. “Like what you see, darlin’?”

 

Hanzo jolted and his head shot up, realizing that he had been staring. McCree was coquettishly grinning at him, eyebrow cocked teasing and wearing an expression that screamed with flirtatious undertones. Emotionally compromised from embarrassment, annoyance, and definitely not attraction -- Shimadas are not /attracted/ by anything-- he returned to attending to the wound with new fervor, scrambling to buy himself time to excuse his humiliating lapse of control. “... BAMF?”

 

“Oh, this?” McCree tugged at the belt with a thumb, the tacky gold buckle shining in the light. “Been with me since the first day I joined Overwatch. Good memories behind it.”

 

“Mind telling me what it is?” Perfect, a distraction from Hanzo’s humiliation.

 

McCree grinned and leaned back into the pillows, a smug aura emitting from him. “Well, I told ya already that Gabe picked me up and gave me a chance. Didn’t tell ya that someone else tried questionin’ me first, but Gabe was the one that succeeded.”

 

“Oh?” Moderately curious, Hanzo glanced up from fixing the cut, continuing, “You don’t strike me as somebody who would’ve been compliant, indeed.”

 

“Naw, punched the first guy in the face. His name’s Jack, golden boy who liked callin’ the shots like he was in charge o’ everythin’. Broke his nose. To top it off, he’s the head of the city department of security.”

 

“Of course you would,” Hanzo monotoned exasperatedly, shaking his head. “When do you not get yourself in more trouble than necessary?”

 

“Never, actually,” McCree guffawed. “I was a young whipper-snapper. Anyways, Jack was all in it to throw my ass behind the bars, but Gabe got kick out of the fact that the revered Jack Morrison got dealt by some punk-ass kid and took me in. Bought me the belt to screw with Morrison.”

 

Hanzo laughed in the back of his throat, amusement apparent despite the controlled tone. “No wonder you and Gabriel connected, you think similarly.”

 

“Kinda, I suppose.” McCree’s grin then widened, growing mischievous as he leaned forward slightly to close the gap between them. “Why you lookin’ down there in the first place, darlin’? At least buy me dinner first.” McCree simply guffawed louder when Hanzo flicked him sharply on his forehead with a gloved finger, a rosy red tinting his ears.

 

After a few minutes of light operation and a lull in conversation, McCree started to sit back up, chirping, “Whelp, better get back to work. Thanks as usual, darlin’.” Hanzo pushed him back down with a hand, frowning.

 

“This isn’t a wound you can walk off, McCree, get yourself admitted into the hospital for a few days. You require rest.” Hanzo held up a hand to stop McCree’s protest, continuing crisply, “Listen to your doctor, I won’t treat you again if you snap the stitches jumping off a motorcycle or some other nonsense activity,” steeling himself against his patient’s whining.

 

“You know,” McCree mused. “I actually did that not a long while ago.”

 

“McCree--”

 

“Yeah yeah, yammer on long enough and my ears’ll fall off.” Hanzo eventually relented and allowed McCree to sit up properly, hand hovering behind his back as McCree redressed. Despite McCree’s protests that he was definitely fine, Hanzo walked him to the “MEDICAL” doors once more and wished him well.

 

“Don’t forget what I said about rest, McCree,” he called after him as he walked through the doors.

 

McCree spun on his heel, saluting him with two fingers and grinning as he drawled, “No worries, I gotcha, darlin.’” Hanzo shook his head, a crooked smile on his face as he waved back and closed the doors behind him, pausing for a moment and leaning back slightly. After a pause, he pinched the bridge of his nose, a blush forming on his cheeks as McCree’s deep, rolling voice echoed in his ears. “Darlin’,” he had said.

 

He had many expectations when he signed up to work at Mercy Emergency Clinic, but this was definitely not foreseen.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this chapter, I hope y'all enjoyed it! Big thanks to those who have kudo'd, bookmarked, and especially commented; it makes my day, truly! ^^ Updates will be slower than two weeks (most likely), but I will continue this story, so no worries there.
> 
> Some tidbits:  
> -Currently, McCree still has both of his arms, and Genji isn't cyborg-like.  
> -The characters are all canon age but Reyes is still here with us.  
> -LTAC stands for "Long-Term Acute Care."  
> -The eye of Horus is officially categorized as D10 in lists of Egyptian hieroglyphs.
> 
> Feedback is much appreciated, since I want to improve future chapters and hear your thoughts! :>
> 
> You can find me on Twitter as @goldcarna! If you happen to have any questions about this AU or anything feel free to comment or DM me! ^^


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